


Alone

by space_kid



Series: Jesse Amari Reyes McCree [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Amputation, Angst, Blackwatch Era, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Dad Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Protective Family, Self-Hatred, Smoking, Team as Family, Underage Drinking, any lore updates after sept 2016 will be disregarded, but do not be mistaken this aint your grandpappys reaper76 fic, deadlock - Freeform, father gabriel - Freeform, jesse is sassy, mother ana, platonic mcreyes, reaper76 if ya squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2018-08-14 09:29:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8008066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_kid/pseuds/space_kid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lack of Dad Reyes in the fandom is honestly appalling. DISCONTINUED</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> my mind: write creek write creek write creek write creek write cre  
> me: how about dad reyes instead yes

Blazing hot sun was nothing new for Gabriel Reyes; having sunbeams bleed through black material and roast him from the inside out was a comfortable constant he had in his life, one of a few that he cherished. Being blinded by light until his eyes watered was a feeling he associated with home and being a young man. Times he realized, as he grew older, that would eventually fade black like everything he had been handed thus far in life. Everything is temporary, nothing can be predicted.

But that doesn't mean he isn't trying his damned hardest to carve something out of all this nothing.

 

* * *

 

"What took you so long?"

"Nothin' of import. Had to take care of some shit."

Jack looked at him with a knotted brow, a large gun held in his arms. **Damn him,** Reyes thought. **Damn him and his tall stature and his assertive stance and his ability to read anyone like a damn book.**

Even in the long and hard years that Reyes had known Jack Morrison, he still was not immune to his looks. The look he gives when he's found you out, the one where he knows he's properly fucked, the one where he's angry enough to rip a man's throat out. Gabriel had seen them all, and had thought, foolishly, that he knew Jack as well as Jack knew him. In cases such as this, however, Reyes in reminded that such is not true, and when it came to Jack Morrison, he was always going to be left behind in some way, shape, or form.

The look persisted until Reyes let out a defeated sigh. "Was just talking to Angela about stuff, it's no big deal." He looked past Jack, towards the door that Morrison requested they meet up in front of, and motioned towards it. "What're we doin' here? I thought you wanted to talk about something important. Shouldn't we go somewhere more... secure?"

"There's no time," Jack says as he looked back at the door with a sigh. It was just a standard looking door, that Reyes knew led to a small office. "Something happened while you were gone."

A raised eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Well..." Jack rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. At least Gabriel knew _that_ tick. "You were out, yeah? We brought Deadlock in cuffed, and, understandably so, they weren't as cooperative as we hoped while we lead them to their cells-"

"Jack, cut the shit," Gabriel hissed as he took a step forward, crowding his old friend against the door. "What. Happened."

Jack looked forward, fire in his eyes. He was not a man to be pushed around, and Reyes knew this. But, if something happened between those damn thugs and his troops, Gabriel wanted to know, and didn't care for a backstory.

"Deadlock has been terminated," Morrison whispered after a moment of silent concentration. "And they took down thirteen of our own."

Shocked, Gabriel took a step back from Jack, hands and jaw slack. Thirteen _?_ How in fucking _hell_ does that even happen?!

"How?" He asked in a  responding whisper.

Jack let out a hefty sign, and ran his hand through golden locks. "I don't know, I don't _know!_ We were leading them back to the cells when Holmes fell down after a gun shot with a bullet in his brain. Then all hell broke loose with gunfire and yelling and blood. I tried to stop them, tried to calm shit down, but I couldn't. They were just-"

"Jack."

Morrison looked at Gabriel, fire now drowned out with a sadness. Reyes knew Jack Morrison, and he knew that Jack took every punch, every gunshot, every fatality, personally. Gabriel had to remind him time and time again what was and wasn't his fault, but Jack seemed hellbent on beating himself up every time a plan goes astray or someone gets hurt. He wouldn't let his troops know it, either. Behind closed doors, Jack Morrison ached.

Reyes set an easy hand on his old friend's shoulder, and let a warm smile onto his face. "Not your fault."

Jack took a deep breath, setting back his face to it's hard expression. "Not my fault."

"Good," Gabriel said, letting his hand drop. "So, what's with the door?"

Jack clenched his jaw. "Not all of Deadlock was gonna get out so easy. Wouldn't let them." HIs eyes glanced at the door, then back again, so quickly Reyes almost didn't notice it. "We kept one."

Gabriel's eyebrows shot up in an instant. "What?"

"He was the first to pull his gun out, first to shoot."

"So?"

"And he took out nine all on his own."

That made Gabriel pause for a second. One man took out nine soldiers all on his own, without help from his own gang? Never mind the fact that they managed to smuggle in their guns past agents and get far enough to shoot anybody. Whoever this guy is seemed to know his gun and his capability, it's no wonder Deadlock took them in. Reyes feels his shoulders sag, and looks at the door once more, then back.

"So, we got em?"

Jack grins a bit. "Locked up and pretty beat up, but it's more then we can say for the others."

Gabriel hesitates. "And that's why you called me over? You've done interrogations before, you don't need me for this."

Jack clutches the gun a bit tighter to his chest protectively, tensing up. The sadness was back, etched into his young features. "I just watched him kill nine of our agents, Gabe. If I even get inside that fucking room, I'll kill that son of a bitch."

"Who said that was a bad thing?"

Jack's grip loosened, his body calmed. "I just need you to get all the information about Deadlock we can get from him." His face hardens. "Then, gut him."

Gabriel smirks at his friend. "Can do, Jack."

Morrison nods, pats him oh the shoulder, and walks past Reyes, stiff and angry. Gabriel knows that Jack Morrison is not one to take massive fatalities well, so he'll have to go check up on him later, after he's done with this... situation. Gabriel watches as Jack saunters off down the hall, turn the corner, and disappear, never once looking back. **Wouldn't want to get his hands dirty,** Gabriel thinks in the back of his mind, and focuses on the task before him. He opens the door slowly, preparing for trouble, and walks into the dark room, closing the door quietly behind him. Just him, and the man responsible. 

But what Gabriel is treated to when he walks into the room is not a man at all. It's a boy.

He sits in a regular wooden chair, hands tied behind his back and arms completely slack. His head is hung forward, so Reyes can only see the top of his head, which has shaggy brown hair that covers his eyes, matted down with blood and dirt. HIs shirt is ripped and torn red plaid, buttons missing and wounds poking through material. His left arm is decorated with a faded skull tattoo and scattered with old scars and filth. Ripped blue jeans, brown boots caked in mud, and a shiny gold belt buckle with "BAMF" written in bold letters. He's all limbs, lanky like a scarecrow.

He's a fucking punk ass _kid_.

Gabriel walks forward in the dark room, approaching silently like a predator. Until the kid's head shoots up, brown eyes wide and scanning. Even his face is youthful, barely any stubble and not a wrinkle from time on him. Couldn't be older than 20.

The two stare at each other, sizing one another up, before the boy scoffs, and sits back against the chair as though it was all a game, and he was going to win.

"Great," he drawls. "'Nother onea _you_."

Reyes remains silent, simply observing.

"What, come in here to scold me, is that it? Wanna dangle my ass over a balcony and tell me how naughty I've been?" He has the audacity to smirk, all country charm on display.

Gabriel's thoughts run wild. Deadlock was employing kids, is that it? He thinks about what it would take to lure kids into a gang like Deadlock; probably bribed or blackmailed them. Threatened to kill their families or some shit. Plucked young ones off the fucking street at age 12 and trained them amongst criminals, teach them how to handle a gun and how to slit a throat. Reyes thinks about all the kids they couldn't get to, the ones bleeding out with people who never really cared about them, the ones dead in a field somewhere, their parents none the wiser. He think that maybe, it's better that way. It would be better to think your child is missing then to know them dead, isn't it?

"Ah," the boy interrupts his thoughts, eyes running over every inch of room before him. "I get it. That other guy couldn't _handle_ it, huh? Afraid he'd do somethin' _bad_ if he saw me-"

"Shut the fuck up."

The outburst surprised them both, the boy's eyebrows shooting up and Gabriel mentally calming himself down. The last thing he needs is this fucking kid thinking he has a leg up in this.

"So, he speaks. Beginnin' to think ya was a mute or somethin'," he jokes. "What's wrong, did I strike a cord with ya?"

Reyes walks forward, and backhands the kid. He may be young, but Gabriel knows that he's received more then just one slap in the face with that damn mouth of his. "I _said_ , shut up. I'm not here for a discussion."

The boy rotates his jaw while his cheek turns pink from the impact, and looks up toward Gabriel. "No, I suppose ya ain't. But," he grins, "you are here for somethin', ain't cha?"

Gabriel paces before the boy, the dark room keeping certain aspects of him hidden. Lurking in the shadows, like a monster, he watches.

"What's your name, kid?"

He grins a shit eating grin. "McCree."

Reyes scoffs. "That ain't a damn name. Don't go lying to me, son."

McCree tenses up, sitting forward. "Get off your _fucking_ high horse. You shouldn't act like yer all high and mighty." His expression darkens. "I know what people like you do."

Gabriel raises a questioning eyebrow. "What, as though _you're_ some saint? I wouldn't call blindly shooting at official government agents a work of someone with a moral conscience. We help people."

"You call taking out fourteen of your boys 'blindly shooting'?"

Gabriel slams his hands down on the chair in anger, leaning in close to the kid. "I'm not in the mood for games, boy. Why did you shoot at us? We have no beef with one another. You had nothin' to gain."

McCree looks up with an exhausted look on his face. From here, Reyes can see how tired he truly is. **Shooting fourteen people really can tucker you out** , he thinks bitterly.

"You were on our terf," he mutters darkly.

Silence overtakes the room, thick enough to drown in, as the two stare each other down once more. Reyes' mind is pure static, not a single thought forming. He is blinded by anger, seeing pure red.

Suddenly, he reaches behind himself, and pulls a pistol out of the back of his jeans, and presses it to the kid's forehead. Safety off.

"I'll do it, goddammit. I'll fucking do it," he snarls between clenched teeth, as he watches the kid's face morph many expressions. First, shock, then confusion, then anger, fear. And finally, acceptance. It's tense between the two. Until that fucking kid shatters it like glass.

"Do it."

Gabriel processes the words for a second, then presses the barrel harder to his forehead. "Don't think I will?"

"Naw, that ain't it." He presses his forehead into the gun, eyes wide and expressionless, never leaving Gabriel's. "I think you can. I think you should." McCree's expression softens for the first time since Reyes has seen him. "That's what I'm countin' on. You came in here to know why I shot all of you. Now you know." His smile is weak. "Where does that leave us now?"

Reyes softly puts his finger on the trigger, a warning to the boy before him. "Your whole gang's dead, kid. Now all that's left is you, until we've exterminated your kind for good."

"Then do it, hot shot."

Reyes looks down at the kid, reviewing every feature on his face. He has bags under his eyes that droop and sink in his face; it's enough to make Reyes wonder when the last time was when the kid slept. His nose is a bit bloody and his right eye is tinted purple, like a bruise in the making. His eyes are wide like a doe, and Reyes realizes they're not expressionless, no. They're _pleading_. He wants this. He wants that pinch of death of wreck his body until he's nothing more then a husk. He should've seen through that cocky outer shell, covering up true intentions. Only someone in this state would act so recklessly, so carelessly. This kid wants to be dead so bad, Gabriel doesn't know what to make of it.

McCree feels _guilty_. And that's something he can work with.

Slowly, Reyes removes the gun from the boy's forehead, leaving a slight impression on tanned skin, and tucks in back into his jeans with the safety on. McCree looks disappointed and confused, and Reyes knows the angle he needs to attack this from. One false move, and this'll blow up in his face.

"I'm not gonna kill you, you idiot. That'd be the easy way out. I won't grant ya that." He steps back to take in the kid's expression. He watches it fall, then harden. 

McCree snarls, and pulls against his restraints. "Then what the fuck do ya _want_ with me?! My whole gang's dead, I've got nothin' left to offer ya!"

"There is something you can give..."

His eyes widen with fear, and he begins to thrash. "Oh god! No way man, no fuckin' way am I bein' your damn _whore_ -!"

Gabriel grabs the boy's throat, choking off his yelling and his windpipe. Damn his mouth.

"No, god dammit." He releases the boy's throat slowly, letting him regain his gulping breath with a hung head. "We could use talent like yours around here. Especially since you killed some of our agents. I think you'll be a fine replacement for all the lives you've taken."

McCree looks up slowly, realization dawning on his face as slow as a sunrise. Wide eyes with fear. Reyes crosses his arms, and stares the boy down in hopes of intimidation. This kid has caused more trouble then Reyes wanted for today, and Gabriel wants this done and over with. He knows Jack will personally skin him alive for letting this kid join them on missions and living around the base, but Reyes can see what McCree is made of. If he was helpless enough to take orders from a group of thugs, he'll be easy enough to train by himself. Besides, even Gabriel has to admit what a damn shame it would be to lock up talent such as this. He's sure McCree will be an asset for the future, with or without the permission of Jack Morrison and the rest of his team.

McCree looks confused. "You... You want me to join Overwatch?"

"No. I want you to join Blackwatch."

"Blackwatch? The hells that?"

Gabriel leans back against the door with arms crossed against his chest, setting distance between the two. "A branch of Overwatch, one that I think will fit you and your reckless fighting style, cowboy."

The kid studies Reyes from afar, eyes squinting in the dark. "Aren't you concerned about how much of a fucking terrible idea this is on your part? I just killed fourteen of your guys and now you want me to sleep in the same base as you, eat the same food, and train together?" The boy glares. "What's yer angle?"

"No angle. Just would be a pity to throw away talent." Reyes shrugs as though it was no big deal. "I'm not forcing ya, kid."

"What if I say no?" McCree challenges. The hint of danger in his eyes is eerily similar to his own, Reyes observes.

He smiles cheekily. "You won't."

The boy smiles back. "Bite me."

Reyes sighs dramatically, tired of dealing with this good-for-nothing ingrate. Jack has probably drank himself into a coma, and the rest of the team is probably preparing a funeral for the troops. He knows he needs to finish this up soon.

"Although it would be a shame to put out skills like yours, that doesn't mean I'm above locking you up somewhere where only I know and personally letting you starve to death while you think about the fourteen people you killed in cold blood." He eyes McCree. "It's your decision, though."

"Damn... you're meaner than a mule," he grumbles, looking in his lap. He's thinking over the deal, but if he has half a brain, he'll take it. A deal like this is once in a lifetime, and judging by the look on his face, McCree knows it.

"Don't I like... get to request shit? Like what I want to eat and what I wear?"

Reyes gives him a stern look. "You eat what we cook and you wear whatever the fuck I tell ya to. Anymore questions?"

"Shoo mister... Your boyfriend ain't gonna be too happy 'bout this lil transaction. Why waste it on me?"

"The problems of Jack Morrison are mine to deal with. Just make sure you shoot straight and don't start shit. You'll be tracked thoroughly until we think you've accepted the situation. Until then, you'll sleep in here, eat in here, and I'll be managing your training regimen. I'll put you through hell, but it won't be half as bad as what'll happen if you decline my offer." Reyes smirks. "You should be lucky, I'm not usually so nice."

"You call backhanding me, threatening to shoot me, and choking me 'bein' nice'?"

Gabriel looks McCree up and down. "Judging by what you've obviously been through, yup, sounds about right. You should be thanking me."

The kid lets out a laugh, like he can't believe what's transpiring in front of him, and shakes his head. "I don't even know yer fuckin' name."

"And I don't know yours. I'd say we're even."

The boy sticks his chin up, proud and tall like. "Jesse. Jesse McCree."

Reyes stand up tall to compete. This kid will not get the upper hand on him, not while he's tied to a chair with raw wrists and a black eye. "Gabriel Reyes."

Jesse shoots him his seemingly signature shit eating grin, and leans back comfortably in his chair. "Alright Gabi, I'm in. I'll join your girl scout troop." Reyes stands, and turns to open the door to exit the dark room so he could tend to Jack and the rest of the agents. "Smart choice. I'll have medics check up on you tomorrow. Until then, I suggest you get comfy. Welcome to Blackwatch." Reyes begins to shut the door on the boy.

"Wait, yer just gonna leave me here? Don't I get a room or some new fuckin' clothes or somethin' to eat?!"

Gabriel turns, giving him a small glance. "I have to go to a funeral. You can wait."

Jesse thrashes in his restraints, anger taking over his young face. He spits colorful curses out at Reyes as the man leaves. Gabriel shuts the door behind him, eyes stinging from the new light. The yelling now muffled behind him, white noise, but he can make out one phrase clearly:

_"At least get me my damn hat back!!"_

Reyes chuckles, and saunters off down the hall, turning the corner, and disappearing, never once looking back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Jesse reflect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> seeing how many people are excited for this makes me want to cry this is definitely the most popular thing ive ever written ever in 3 years ahhhh ;w; thank u thank u thank u
> 
> also shout out 2 @hydrachea for getting me into overwatch with all her nice content on my dash. thank u rach i owe you my life
> 
> ill be the first to admit that this chapter is kinda all over the place. but if u want me to cover up my ass, ill say its because of jesse and jacks conflicting emotions. or its just poorly written. or both.

As Jack Morrison walked down the hallway from his longtime friend, feet shuffling, he couldn't help but wonder about the situation at hand. His hands ran along the wall beside him lazily, simply a distraction from his racing thoughts and clouded perspective. Tiles beneath him shimmered in the light so much so that it blinded him in a few places, and he was successfully distracted while he lost his footing and stumbled. Thankfully, Gabriel wasn't watching or he'd never hear the end of it. Leader of an elite troop of agents sent by the government tripping over his own damned feet in concentration. 

But then there he is, back in that place in his mind he was trying so hard to escape. The sound of a gunshot in a tight hallway echoing throughout everyone's ears; the slump of one soldier, one friend; the vivid red blood that leaks from the wound in a slow, steady pace down a sweaty forehead; the scuffle that ensued so quickly, no one could process the first shot, the first kill. Jack remembers yelling out to his troops to fire at them all, take no prisoners. He remembers the cries of anguish that arose as man after man falls and he remembers the dying clutches of fallen man, clinging to their leader who swore to protect them. He wishes he could've been faster, more ruthless towards Deadlock as they shot their way through the group of agents. Distantly, he hears Gabriel open the door, and close it quietly. He could stay outside, and eavesdrop on the conversation to listen to Gabriel's course of action. Reyes was a man who liked to take justice into his own hands, and while that usually led to the two men clashing, Jack knows that right now is an exception.

Knowing the kid would be dead by morning, however, left a bad taste in his mouth. One he chose not to dwell on. This was for the best, after all.

 

* * *

 

Standing among the carnage as though it was something to be proud of. Bodies all scattered around his feet, each with a pretty bullet hole in this heads. He had watched as Jack raised his gun and aimed it at him with intent in his eyes. If looks could kill, that kid's brains would be splattered across the wall.

The smirk grew into a full on grin, all teeth and all joy.  _"_ Howdy."

"Put the gun down!" He had yelled, knowing if his voice dropped any lower, it'd be as shaky as his legs standing above his dead friends.

"Or what?" The kid asked, aiming his own gun up to Jack's head. "You'll kill me?"

"Don't make me do that," he pleaded from across the hallway. He couldn't kill him; he was the last of his gang, he knew all their dirty little secrets. If he let his emotions take over and let him pull the trigger, Deadlock would always be an unsolvable mystery to Overwatch. A smaller part of Jack knows that if he sees one more person get shot or stabbed today, he might go over the bridge of insanity. Even if that person is the killer himself.

As Jack looked as close as he dared, he saw what was behind those brown eyes currently staring him down. He sees how shut and dead they look, as though he was an omnic himself and simply functioning to achieve his one goal. The touch of youth didn't help either as Jack realized that he had the eyes of a broken man. A man whose been through hell and back and lived to tell the tale. A man who defeated the dragon but lost it all along the way. They held no innocence, and Jack knew that while he had seen more then anyone should at his age, he was still a foolish child. Only someone of youth would attempt to take him out all on his own. This boy was cocky, and a deadeye, which were two things that did not mix.

As Jack Morrison continues to look deeper, noticing small freckles on the bridge of his nose, one of his agents stalks behind the gang member slowly, crouching to avoid being caught. The kid seemed to be engrossed with staring Jack down while looking down the silver barrel of his gun. All attention was on him, and the air reeked of fresh blood.

"You think you're alone in this," the boy spits bitterly, as though to keep them in any longer would cause him physical pain. "You think this is all about you. That everything's 'bout you. Well it _ain't_."

"What are you talking about?" Jack asks, trying to keep the kid distracted as the agent behind dares to inch closer.

"We've all lost shit today. I've lost shit today. Sure as fuck ain't losin' my life too."

An unknown look wells in his eyes as he raises his gun straighter. "You killed em. You killed em all."

"Only because you shot first. None of this would've had to have happened if you just-"

"I don't give a damn who started this!" He suddenly exclaims, breaking the tension with a hammer. "All I know is, _I'm_ finishin' it!" 

Jack thinks he sees angry tears in the boy's eyes, and before he can fire his final shot, sure to make it's home in Jack's skull, the agent knocks the kid in the side of the head with the blunt end of his gun, knocking him unconscious. He falls quickly, and neither man makes a move to catch his falling body as he slams his head against the ground roughly. Jack almost looses his body amongst the sea of the dead, and after a few seconds pass in complete silence, he slowly maneuvers his steps around corpses as to not step on any. The bodies of both Overwatch and Deadlock all lay in the barren hallway intermingled, and Jack locks eyes with his remaining agent, who stands rigid, purposely not daring to look down at his feet for fear of what he knows is there.

The silence stretches on before Jack asks, "How many of ours got away?"

"Ten, sir." He straightens his back, holding the large gun close to his chest in shaky hands. As Jack walks towards him, he notices tears streaming down his face in anguish. The soldier's red and puffy eyes scan the floor quickly, as he looks up at Jack. "Eleven casualties, sir," he whispers with a shaky voice. 

Jack nods, and stares down at the kid, limbs askew and limp. It was almost hard to believe that this string bean did so much damage. "I'll take care of the kid."

"You aren't just going to, like, shoot him?"

Jack's trigger finger itches at his side in a clenched fist. "Can't. He's the only hope of getting information out about Deadlock. We need him alive."

The agent lets out a tired sigh. "Should I let Ana know about all of this-"

"Yeah...yeah," Morrison interrupts, bending over to pick up the kid. He isn't as muscular as he thought, and is surprisingly easy to carry. "Do whatever you need to do." Jack knows he needs to get out of the hallway as quickly as possible, for fear of letting the events sink in in the prying eyes of his agent. He needs to compress in private, and any moment longer in the presence of the dead can only spell trouble. The agent nods, seeming to understand, and begins to talk into a transmitter too quietly for Jack to hear. Not that he's paying him any attention anymore.

He walks off down the end of the hallway with the kid in his arms, fighting every urge he had to snap his neck and leave him abandoned in the maze of hallways and locked doors. Every step he took was another gunshot, another cry for help, another clutch from rattling fingers. This boy in his arms was a monster, and Jack knows that he can't ever talk to this kid again. It would kill him to hear his living voice taunt and gloat.

He comes upon a small office, and unlocks it with a scanner. He scrambles with the boy in his arms, as they make their way into the dark room. A lone chair sits in the center, and a light buzzes from above in eerie fashion. _Cleanup would be easier here_ , Jack thinks to himself in anger. It was perfect. Gabriel would do his work, and then this would all be behind them.

He sits the kid down in the chair, his head laying limp against the back of it while letting brown hair spill over the edge. He was _really_ young, younger then he had originally thought; could be 16 for all he knew. The tan skin complimented his now torn red shirt, and his stupid looking belt buckle glittered in the light. Jack produced a small rope from his utility pocket, and tied the boy's legs to the bottom of the chair, and wrists together, tight enough to rub skin off. The kid simply breathed evenly, and Jack worked in seething anger. He knew some kind of interrogation had to be done, but he knew he couldn't be the one to do it. The kid would be dead before he even opened his mouth; even the thought of seeing brown eyes tore Jack up on the inside.

When he was finished, he stood in front of the boy, if that was what he was even considered to be. That gun of his was too big for his hands, how did he handle it so evenly? How did he make every single one of shit shots and manage to dodge all other bullets while his older members could not? What was it about this boy that made him so good at what he does? Dedication? What did Deadlock have on him?

The questions piled up in his mind, a flash of uncontrollable rage ran through him, and before he could stop himself, Jack took his gun out, and shot the boy's stupid cowboy hat right off his head. It woke him in an instant, and his eyes were wide and scanning as Jack walked behind him, out of eye sight, and picked up his hat from the ground. A thin trail of smoke leaked out the pretty circle he had created. The boy was panting in fear. 

"The hell!" He exclaimed. "You almost took my head off!"

"You're lucky I didn't," Jack muttered back as he walked towards the door to leave this piece of shit alone in the dark. His fingers had gone shaky, and Jack knew the symptoms. He was close to breaking down and if he didn't get out now, he'd have quite the show for the kid.

"Hey!" The boy calls out suddenly, and Jack closes his eyes. He stops, dead in his tracks, back still to the boy. A silent agreement.

"How does it feel to know you killed my entire family?" The boy hisses, voice low and threatening.

Jack scoffs, and opens the door to leave the room while flicking off the light to leave the boy in the dark. The kid glares at Jack as he left, obviously pissed to be left alone in the dark. The door locks behind him, and Jack doesn't hear a peep after him.

Silently, Jack walked back to his room, opening the door and sitting on the edge of his bed, looking over the hat with weary eyes. A weight piles on his chest, as the past few hours rush over him in an instant, and he's left almost breathless. His fingers tighten on the brim of the cowboy hat, as he gritted his teeth. Memories flash in his eyes, and Jack feels a chill run over his skin. The funeral would be long and slow, the letters out to families would be a task to send out, all translated and stamped appropriately. No doubt, Jack would have to talk at each funeral and give his words about how brave they were and the sacrifices they all made for the betterment of not only Overwatch, but the hapless citizens. The UN will want to talk to him about how this all managed to happen so quickly, and only by one kid. They'll question his status as leader, interrogate him, and he will be punished one way or another, if not by the UN, then by the other agent's glances as he walks down the hall. Blood dries on his hands, and Jack lies back against his mattress, exhausted.

Slowly, he presses his transmitter. "Gabriel. We need to talk."

* * *

Jesse yells his throat raw after that man, Gabriel, screaming any and all obscenities he could form and articulate at the moment. His head is hazy from  getting backhanded earlier, and he finds himself blinking sluggishly in the darkness that envelops him. The chair is digging into his body and he thinks he feels a rivulet of blood slipping down his wrist into his palm. Jesse sighs.

It had been a god damn good day, too. Dale wasn't yelling at him every two seconds like he usually did. Joel and Carter weren't trying to get him to play Russian Roulette for the twelfth time, and they had been up to date on all their appointments and raids. The little house they all were squatting in was nicer then ones they've had previously; no rats climbing through exposed pipes, at least. Jesse thinks back on that very morning fondly, and suddenly fills with anger.

They were dead. All of them, every last one. No one was going to come looking for Jesse, no one cared that he was tied up in a locked office in the dark with the shit kicked out of him. No one was planning a big heist to save his ass, no one was thinking back to times they had with their ol' pal Jesse McCree and wishing they could go back like he is now. Jesse didn't have anybody waiting up for him.

The thought bit at him like a dog, gnawing on his brain as though it were an old bone. What about his motorcycle? What about his clothes? He had shit back at the base that he damn well wanted, and before he did any kinda of fucking favors for the "dream team," he was getting his shit back.

As the silence of the room filled his lungs, Jesse had no choice but to think back to not just that morning, but everything that brought him here, to this room, to this chair. Every bullet fired, every life taken. It all fell together like a tainted puzzle, each piece twisting and molding the unfortunate tale about the demise of Deadlock. He yearned for a cigarillo to chew or light, but Jesse knew that dreaming of such luxuries in this situations would only hurt him. Right now, his mind kept drifting off to places he was downright afraid of. The crevices of his mind the held back the floodgate boarded up by Deadlock and their years of conditioning. Leaving him stranded in a desert for a week, starving him out, giving him alcohol to calm his nerves, and drugs to light them on fire. They'd saved his life, but what had he lost along the way?

McCree let out another slow blink, when suddenly, as his eyes closed softly, he saw a flicker of something in his vision.

It might've been a person, or at the very least, what was left of a person. They were ridden with bloody holes in their body, mouth agape with the cracks of their teeth stained red. Their vacant eyes are looking up at him, with a look of wonder and ultimate sorrow. Calling out to him. He was being haunted.

His eyelids shoot open, springing like a bear trap, as his breathing speeds up from nervousness. The man, or whatever it was, was now gone from sight; however, Jesse could still feel the presence of something other than him in the room. With his hand and chair situation, Jesse had no room to move over to look behind him. The thought of someone sneaking up behind him again makes his skin crawl. He wasn't alone. There was a monster in the shadows that was just out of eyesight. McCree wonders if this was what it was like to loose your mind. He is suddenly hyperaware of every itch of rope, every bleeding wound, every throb of his head. He is sitting, tied to a chair, in an abandoned office at Overwatch. Not dead.

Regrettably, Jesse thinks back to his meeting with Gabriel; standing tall with thick arms crossed, he was intimidating and could likely snap Jesse's spine in half like a twig. A deep part of him does consider himself lucky that he only got backhanded, but he'd rather die then let him know that.

 _"Do it, hot shot."_ It rings in his ears like a bell. He had played a game with the man, and Jesse had called his bluff. Of course he didn't want Gabriel to pull the trigger. It didn't feel like victory like when he wins poker. It didn't feel like a training day gone well. The look of shock Gabriel gave him offered no pleasure, it instead felt like a blow to his chest, a swift kick and punch. It felt like... loosing. But Jesse isn't dead; he won. Hadn't he?

Jesse cries out in pain as he tugs on his restraints in an effort to escape the thoughts that were slowly crawling over to him. He belonged to Overwatch now, branded and sealed. In a moment of tired weakness, McCree looks down at his tattooed arm; the elongated skull that has faded with time and scars. It stared back at him with unforgiving eyes, digging into him. No matter how far he would go, Jesse knew he'd always belong to Deadlock. They could scrub him clean and give him a new name, and he'd still have sand in his hair and blood under his fingernails.

_We own you, McCree. You're here for one thing, and that's to shoot whatever we tell you to. Got it?_

Somewhere in the building, they were having a funeral for men that Jesse had killed in cold blood. He lets out a sob. His body is raked in guilt that slither over his bones like serpents, and he can't stop thinking of their faces as he points his gun at them. He was numb, like it was morphine pumping through his veins instead of blood. Jesse feels the splatter of blood on his face, the heap fall to his feet, the silence that grew each second that passed. Then, he'd move onto the next. He was specifically trained to feel no emotion as he was on the hunt, that if he falter in even a second he'd be dead. There was no talking, no negotiating. You see someone, and they're already dead. Hell burned through him like an electrical current , and Jesse rocked back and forth in his seat. If Dale found out he was crying, let alone for the perceived enemy, he'd have his hide. He'd tell him to grow up, and smack the back of his head. He would be reminded of what they had saved him from, and that he should be grateful for the chance to be alive. Any second, he could've been killed. He was only good for one thing, and it sure as shit wasn't his personality.

But as Jesse sits alone in the dark room, all seventeen years old and hands coated in other men's blood, he leans forward, and lets himself weep in childish guilt.

 _"I ain't no weapon,"_ he whispers in the dark, and continues to sob alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after writing this i guess i didnt anticipate how long this story is going to be if im going to add all that redemption shit....,,.,,. expect to be here for a while kiddos
> 
> also im sorry if jesse is like, totally ooc. i dont know how i spiraled into this habit of writing him to be a horrible person since hes not. but i guess thats my take or something. i dunno just Saddle Up i guess


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse be kind, we have a FUCKING LADY present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM ACTUALLY GOING TO CRY THIS SOMEHOW GOT 1000+ READS IN LESS THAN A WEEK IVE NEVER GOTTEN 1000 READS ON ANYTHING EVER BEFORE THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR GIVING ME A CHANCE ON THIS AND I LOVE YOU ALL AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> also jesses new voicelines changed my life holy fuck
> 
> this chapter came out longer than expected so enjoy some mama ana

The funerals when on as painfully as Gabriel had anticipated; he sat in a stiff black suit as agent after agent made their way to the podium with notecards in hand and tears in their eyes. Some told funny stories, retellings of old missions and rec time; others poured their hearts out to the room, openly weeping in front of the crowd as the others were helpless but to watch as their fumbled their way through words and sentences. 

The entire affair seemed to drag on, Gabriel watching with stern eyes as the event seemed to pass him by like white noise. It felt wrong to be so vacant in a time like right now, fourteen dead agents and broken families at every corner of the room. Reyes remembers having to shut out the press who wanted entry, reminding them that it was a private event and that no cameras would be permitted behind the doors or the large warehouse, the only room big enough to fit everybody in Overwatch and the families. People were occupying every square inch of the warehouse.

And yet, Gabriel still felt Jack's absence.

Multiple people had come up to him with wringing hands, asking where Jack was, to which Gabriel would give a soft reply, somewhere along the lines of "He needs to take his time." Some would walk off in a huff, while others would pat him on the shoulder, and make their way back to their seats silently. 

He sighed as yet another agent walked out, and he officially spaced out from the entire event. He knew Jack Morrison better than anyone at Overwatch and he took pride in that. Growing up with Jack, back in their soldier program, he watched him change and gradually become more strict as well and more broken. Seeing so much death can change a man, for better or for worse. Gabriel is relieved that he took the better route, as he knows Jack Morrison fighting for Talon, or worse, rogue, would end in disaster for Overwatch. The thought of taking on Jack Morrison unrestrained and without giving a damn certainly left Gabriel shaken. He was dangerous, and deadly, but also vulnerable and fractured. 

 _And, a friend,_ Gabriel thinks with a soft smile.

The agent at the podium nods at the audience as they make their way down, wiping their eyes quickly to appear strong. In this room, every single agent is seen in such an open state of being. Talon didn't get to see this, the press didn't get to see this. Not even the UN has seen Overwatch in such a sensitive state with red eyes and shaky hands. At the end of the hard day, they all returned to their rooms and had to look in the mirror, and reflect. Gabriel has a suspicion that Jack isn't the only one who gets nightmares, what with everything that's been seen over the past many years. Ghosts haunt the barren hallways.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

Reyes turns, and sees Ana sit next to him quietly, her daughter holding her hand besides her. Ana's inky hair is pulled up elegantly, and she is dressed like a professional business woman, not a master sniper. No one would ever be able to assume she could deal mass amounts of damage, but Gabriel was lucky enough to see her in action and dish out a beating or two at the poor fools who doubted her. Fareeha has a pastel blue dress on, and a look of boredem that Gabriel can't help but share. She is but a child, unaware of the situation.

He gives a small smile, and Ana rubs his arm comfortingly. "Where's Jack?"

"Oh, he just, uh..." an image of Jack drunk off his ass curled into a ball on his bed flashes in his mind, and Gabriel swallows nervously, "...needs some time right now."

Ana nods. "Yeah, I believe it." She sighs, and glances at Fareeha. "He never was good at these types of things, especially on a scale like this."

Gabriel nods, and the two quiet down as a young agent walks up, Gabriel dimly remembering his name is Steven or something along those lines. He is lanky, with shaggy brown hair and a youthful face. He staggers to the podium, and breaks down in angry tears, cursing some god for all the pain he had brought. Reyes observes him slamming his fist onto the wood, and yelling out into the sea of silence as all others watch him fall deeper and deeper. Ana watches with a stony face, not one to freely let her emotions control a situation, all while her daughter has long since rested her head on her mother's shoulder, and is quietly sleeping. Gabriel then sees a flash of a cocky grin and wide eyes full of guilt, swimming in his vision like bad deja vu.

_You were on our turf._

He blinks rapidly, and then the boy curls into his arms in a heap, sobbing as another gently rubs his back and leads him off the stage, cooing him softly. Something akin to anger rises within Gabriel, but anger at who, he is unsure. Here he is, at a mass funeral for over a dozen of his own team, his own agents, killed in cold blood, and only a half hour ago, he allowed the murderer into Overwatch. To live with them, to grow bonds with. And for what, because he feels he can rehabilitate the kid? Because when he looks at the kid, he sees himself? He didn't owe this kid anything, why was he so inclined to believe he can train someone as reckless as him? And that's not even taking into account how many innocents Jesse took down in Deadlock, before this whole mess even _began_ -

"Gabriel?"

His mind grinds to a halt, and he looks over at Ana, who is eyeing him worryingly. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Reyes offers a small smile, attempting to comfort his friend. Ana nods, and motions to the stage.

"Do you want to go up, and say a few words?" She looks down at her hands. "Y'know, since Jack isn't here?"

Gabriel is about to politely reject the offer when he feels multiple pairs of eyes on him. He scans the room, and realizes that a vast majority of the crowd is staring at him, with something resembling hope in their young eyes. Reyes takes a deep breath, knowing that he must be the leader they need right now, and that sitting in his chair is not an option. They need his guidance, fresh faces looking for anything to hang onto. The mood of the room is bleak, and while Gabriel knows he can't turn it around for them, not matter how much he may want to, he has to at least do what he can as one man. He can do what Jack can't right now. He can forget about that closet, forget about Deadlock, forget about Jesse McCree, but the past behind him and look forward. All eyes are on him, the stage is set, and all he has to do is play the part as the fearless leader.

And so he stands.

* * *

 

The funeral ends quickly after that, Reinhardt uttering bleakly encouraging words to the group, and ending it with a brief moment of silence. Gabriel hangs his head, closing his eyes and going through the names of all the lost agents one by one; it was his own way of remembering. He didn't need a large ceremony to mourn. The room around him was ice cold, not a breath taken, not an inched moved, all within that minute of silence. The hustle and bustle of Overwatch, for that one moment and that moment only, was silenced completely leaving only room for thought and reflection. No words, but they had all spoken enough. This would happen again, it was only a matter of time. As the silence grew, all the members seemed to realize that, and the room suddenly became heavy. Then, the moment was over, and life resumed.

Gabriel stood, fixing his tie, before Ana grabbed his elbow, forcing him to stay back with an iron grip and a gleam in her eye. "Can we talk?"

"Of course," he replies, already nervous. The room loses more and more agents, some still letting silent tears fall, others with stony faces that were tired of pain. Ana whispers to her child some instructions in a different language that Gabriel does not understand, and Fareeha nods, and runs off while taking Reinhardt's hand sleepily. They watch the two walk off, large hand in small hand, until the room is completely empty. Then Ana speaks. 

"Are you okay, Gabe?"

He looks down at her, calming himself. "Well, we did just have a funeral for multiple colleagues, all of whom I have worked closely with and knew by first name basis. Am I not allowed to be a bit upset?"

"Oh please, don't try and pull that on me," she snaps bitterly. "You were distracted the entire time. I had to knock you back into the present more than once."

Gabriel considers the situation at hand. Here he is with Ana Amari, a life-long friend who has seen him at both his best and worst, asking a genuine question that she deserves to know the honest answer to. One of the best agents, getting to her position by her own accord and not taking no for an answer. A woman who sees the good in everyone she meets, and takes no shit. A woman who can fix a wound just as easily as she take a life. A fighter, a healer, a mother.

And, a friend.

Gabriel gives in. "Okay, you want the truth?"

She crosses her arms, and looks up proudly. "I expect nothing less."

Gabriel sits her down, and starts from the beginning. He tells her about Jack calling him, about the closet, about the scrawny kid, about Deadlock, about it all. He lays all his cards on the table for Ana's inspection, and watches her facial expression change from a variety of looks, until it settles on a stern one. Not angry, not sad, not happy. Intrigued, maybe. She was never one to back down from a challenage.

"I want to meet him."

Gabriel is taken aback slightly. He expected a scolding, or to be cursed out, or to be slapped. "Really?"

"Well yeah." She shrugs nonchalantly, and closes her eyes. "I've known you half my life and trust your judgement, so if you think he's got potential, I believe you." One eye cracks open cheekily, and she gives a playful grin. "I should get to know the fresh meat, huh?"

"I suppose..." Gabriel trails off, thinking about Jesse and what he's probably doing; he had been worried throughout the service that his yelling and scuffling would be heard from the large room, but Gabriel only heard silence. He thought of his wrists, scraped and bleeding with a possible infection. His eye swollen, his head pure mush from injuries. He must be exhausted, since Gabriel left him no bed and literally kept him in the dark for over three hours. Jesse would be pissed to see Reyes again, but if Ana was to be the one to go in, it would be interesting to see how Jesse would interact with others besides him and Jack, especially a strong woman. Deadlock did have a sketchy history, and while he likes to believe that Jesse stayed cleared of that part of his gang, there is a small chance that he was wrong and-

"Gabriel!"

He focused in on Ana once more, who was looking at him impatiently. With a shallow nod, Reyes replies, "You can't tell Jack."

Her face falls dramatically. "Jack doesn't know?"

"It's complicated," he offers.

"Which is exactly the reason Jack should have some say in the matter!" Ana was starting to get pissed, and Gabriel couldn't even fault her for the way her voice was raising and echoing off the walls. "That man is off getting drunk in agony over that kid, and you let him into Overwatch without his consent?"

Gabriel holds her should pleadingly. "Look, like you said, I can train him, he's still moldable, young. He just needs to be put to the right kind of work."

"How old is he, Gabriel? What's his favorite color? Does he have a family? Is that even his real name? Is there anymore Deadlock we don't know?" She asks the questions in rapid succession, too quick for Gabriel to answer, and his eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Can you answer any of the questions I just asked?"

Gabriel remains silent, and Ana sighs loudly. "God dammit."

"Ana, just, _please_ don't tell Jack yet. I'll tell him when the time is right."

Ana gives a moment of breath, and nods. "Jack isn't going to be too happy about you keeping secrets, Gabriel. I hope you're ready to be on his bad side."

"Oh please," Gabriel exclaims, giving the woman a tired grin, "Wouldn't be the first time, and it sure as shit won't be the last."

* * *

 Ana straightens her back, now changed into her usual wardrobe, and prepares to enter the room. It was a regular office, anyone who walked past it would be none the wiser. One wrong opened door, and their dirty little Deadlock secret would be out in the open. She sighs, and feels Gabriel's eyes on her. Ana rolls her eyes. The entire building was equipped with cameras; even when you are alone, someone somewhere is watching you, and today, right now, was no exception. In one of the many control rooms somewhere in Overwatch, Reyes was watching Ana and her exchange. If this punk did one thing out of place, Gabriel promised that he'd wish he was never born. As if she didn't have a pistol strapped to her ankle...

Tightening her fist, she reaches out, turns the knob, and enters the room, into the unknown.

"Hey!" 

The cry out within the dark room surprises Ana, and she is quick to shut the door behind her, as to not draw attention. When she turns, she gets an eyeful of the boy. His eyes are wide and angry, with shaggy brown hair sticking to blood on his face. The bags under his eyes are barely visible with tanned skin and light freckles shrouding them, but the presence of tiredness cannot be erased the same way. He - _Jesse_ \- is staring Ana down, and she knows if the handcuffs were off he wouldn't be so reserved.

Her thoughts are disturbed by his shouting once more. "Hey, lady!"

She walks forward, calmly, silently. The boy seems to have no problem with her silence. 

"Who in the hell 're you?" He spits, southern accent dripping from each word. Almost charming, if he didn't also look like hell in a handbasket.

"I'm Ana," she answers, "and you're Jesse McCree. Right?"

He's shaken, if his looks are anything to go by. "Uhh, yeah. How did-"

"Gabriel told me all about your little scuffle with our agents and your gang." Her voice is hard, not taking shit from this boy. "Impressive, how much damage a scrawny kid like you can impose."

His face flashes with pain, and he pulls a strained grin. "Reckon y'all 're scard of 'lil ol me. I'm almost flattered."

"Do not mistake caution for fear," she reminds him, and he shrinks back a bit in his chair. Intimidation does not have to be physical.

Ana takes calculated steps forward, and stands before Jesse with hands on her hips and no nonsense in the air. The kid's face is almost of awe, but Ana knows better than to fall for stupid puppy dog eyes. Fareeha plays that card at home, now she's practically immune to it's effect.

"Let's talk,  Jesse."

"Talk?" He asks, confused.

"Tell me about anything in the world." She gives a faint shrug. "If we're going to be working together, I want to know something about you besides the fact that you're a murderer."

Jesse grits his teeth, and he lashes out. "Fuck off, lady! You don't know a damn thing about me!" His stern mask crumbles into something that resembles sorrow. "That ain't me."

That grabs her interest. Hook, line, sinker. _Reel him in._ "Then who are you?"

Jesse looks ready to spill, before barking out a surprising laugh, and lolling his head back against the chair. Ana takes another step forward. He continues to laugh as though Ana just told him the funniest joke, and as it goes on, she is more and more suspicious of his action.

"Damn, you are good. Almost got me." Slowly, he raises his head, and Ana is close enough to see the faint and faded signs of tears, two shadows of crying lines running down his cheeks. "Can't believe I almost fell for your tricks. Jesse, you stupid son of a bitch," he mutters under smoky breath.

"I'm not trying to pull anything," she says, before an idea blooms. "Here, how about this: a question for a question."

"What?"

Ana sits on the ground, legs crossed, and smiles. "I'll ask you something about yourself, and in return, you can ask something about me. Sound fair?"

"Why should I tell you anything?"

A smirk crosses her lips. "Because just as I know how to tend to your obvious broken rib, I can also break it into, say, fourteen pieces." _Checkmate_.

Jesse contemplates the offer presented, and looks down at Ana with a sly grin. "Well, shoot, sounds like we got ourselves a little game, Miss Ana." 

"If that's how you want to think of it, then yes." Jesse nods in understanding, and Ana nods back. "You go first. Anything you want, ask away."

Jesse sticks his tongue out in childish thought, and lets his eyes wander the walls of the room for the umpteenth time. Gabriel is most likely losing his god damn mind in the control room, running his hands over his face and thirty seconds away from kicking the door down and using his own methods to get information out of the kid. A man of action like him loathes the slow approach Ana takes with things.

But Ana knows better. She has a kid, she knows how kids function. Fareeha has taught her that kids like to think they are on equal sparring grounds as their adult counterparts. If Jesse thinks that they are both on the same level, he will hand information over willingly. There's only so much you can extract from an individual with your bare knuckles and venomous words.

"Okay, I've got it," Jesse says, eyes lit up. "What's yer last name?"

Ana raises an eyebrow. " _That's_ what you're going with?"

"Well, it sure is rude of me to keep callin' you 'lady', ain't it? And I figured I should wait to call you Ana." He shrugs, as though it's no big deal. "We ain't to that friendship level yet. Besides, yer just about the nicest person I've talked to in a week, gotta keep _someone_ around."

That stops Ana cold. Out of everything he could've asked her, he asked her about her name? Because he didn't want to be rude? Not about how many kills she has, not about her dark past, not about Overwatch, not about Gabriel or Jack. He didn't ask about secret files, or other agents, or even about his own situation. Jesse asked about her last name. A piece of her think that maybe he's lying, but when she looks him in his dark eyes, it's genuine; so genuine it almost hurts. He violently means well, and Ana then knows what her question is.

"Amari," she says plainly, still slightly dumbstruck.

Jesse nods. "Pretty."

"How old are you?" She blurts out before her mouth can stop it. Jesse's eyes go wide, and he sighs, looking down for a moment before looking back up. He looks  hesitant, and Ana thinks that look of guilt Gabriel was talking about is, in fact, rearing it's head. That only makes her more scared for the answer.

"Seventeen, Miss Amari."

The silence is toxic, and Ana feels her blood boil with anger. He's only 5 years older than her own child, her own flesh and blood, and the thought of Fareeha killing all the people Jesse did and doing all the things he did in only five short years makes Ana want to vomit. He's so young, not even legally an adult, in all true sense and definitions, he's a fucking kid. The fact that someone's own child is here, strapped to a chair and bleeding instead of at home with a family and a warm bed, it's almost too much for Ana. Where is his family? Do they know where he is? How old was he when Deadlock picked him up off the streets and filled him with substances and booze?

"Say, Miss Amari, you by chance got a smoke? I've been itching for one all day, and I think it'll wash out the taste of blood from my mouth."

This wasn't right, this wasn't _right_. By having Jesse here, being trained by Gabriel, how were they any better than Deadlock? Sure their motives were by far more tasteful, but Ana knows Gabriel's training regiments, knows how hard he trains those recruits. Their age limit for on the field agents was 20 anyway, so legally Gabriel could not take Jesse out into the field of combat and let him fight. By doing this, they were sure to destroy every single ounce of childlike wonder he had in him, and he'd be a mindless soldier willing to die for a cause that he didn't even understand. He wouldn't be a person, he'd be a _machine_.

"Wait, that wasn't my question, forget it. Forget I said it. Well, actually, don't _forget_ , per say. Just, like, I dunno, can you get me a pack while yer out? Or some water? Or, like, _food_? I'm pretty sure it's now yer responsibility to feed me, and I haven't eaten a lick in two days, just so ya know. Being tied to a chair really takes it out of ya."

As Jesse rambles on, Ana snaps out of her mind and thoughts, and runs a hand through her hair. Her eyes glance up at the camera in the light, and she knows she has a very stern talk approaching with a certain Gabriel Reyes. That can wait, however, because Ana Amari does not put emotion before her job. She came here for a reason.

So she smiles, and puts her hands in her lap. "Food, water, and a pack. Got it."

Jesse smiles at her, and Ana feels her heart break. "I reckon it's my turn now, ain't it."

"I believe so, yes."

And that's how they continue, for God knows how long. The two exchange stories from seemingly distant lands, ones of great defeat and deadly loss. Jesse, as it turns out, makes Ana laugh hysterically with her one-liners, jokes, and impressions. In return, Ana corrects him when he pronounces something wrong, supplies forgotten words, and listens to every word he has to offer. Jesse comments on her stories, and she on his, and for a moment, Ana only sees a child's face lit up with delight. It was a fresh take, and Ana almost forgot about his bruised eye, his tattooed arm, his deadly aim. 

"Oh, I have a great story about my daughter," she says with excitement, after Jesse has finished with his epic tale of a dine and dash.

"Daughter?" He asks once with confusion. Ana shuts up, and looks down at her hands with a faint smile. "Yes. I have a daughter."

Jesse lets a heartbeat pass, before whispering, "What's her name?"

"Fareeha," she answers proudly. "Why, do you have a daughter?"

"Me?" He asks, before splitting into a sour grin. "No way. It's just..." He gets a faraway look in his eye, swallowing. Guilt. "I had a sister."

Ana sits up and stiffens. This is the first she's getting of Jesse's real family, from what she can tell. One wrong move, and she's lose him forever. Ana shuffles her deck, and deals carefully. It was dangerous territory. So far in their conversations, nothing of real substance had come out. She didn't know about Deadlock, she didn't know about the plans they had devised, she didn't know about his history. Everything Ana knew up to this point was on the layer, as easy as dust to brush off. This was her opportunity to dig deep. "What was her name?"

"Rosa," he answers immediately, and Ana watches as Jesse struggles to keep his emotions in check. She decides to go out on a limb, and test the waters set before her, knowing well and good the consequences. Now or never.

"What happened to Rosa?"

Jesse's face shoots up, and he's glaring at Ana with pure hatred. The past hour seems to evaporate between them, and tensions rise like the tide. She's been burned, and Ana can't take back the overstepping leap she took. "That's none of your damn business, lady."

Ana nods, and then stands, her legs cramping from being folded for extended periods of time. "I'm sorry. I won't ask about-"

"Get the hell outta here!" Jesse yells at her, struggling against restraints and breaking open old wounds. "Let me _go_! I swear to _God_ -!"

Ana stands tall before him, glaring down at the squirming boy with something like pity. He's so desperate, so angry, he's a live wire. His mood seems to flip on a dime, and Ana now knows where the "out of bounds" line lies. Sensitive, like to this day, it haunts him. No man practically pulls out his own arm out of it's socket for just anything. If they were alive he'd be far less agitated and sated, especially if it was old news to him. If they were dead, he'd be crying and stuttering out in agony. Jesse had no idea where his family was. If they were dead or alive. Uncertain. It must've been killing him, and Ana just opened the floodgate.

Jesse is screaming out, furious and red hot, and Ana opens the door behind her, slipping out to leave Jesse to his loud yelling out for her, swearing her out and promising pain, to either her or himself.

She walks down the hall to collect her thoughts, and surprisingly, runs into Gabriel. His face is stern, and he grips her shoulders, leaning in close.

"What happened? What did he say?"

Ana looks up with him, her mind reeling from all the information she gathered. In truth none of it was truly a necessity, or even that important. She knew his favorite color was red, his favorite animal was a wolf, his favorite food was whatever an old diner's special was, he liked his tea sweet and liked his cigarettes old school. Ana knew that Jesse got his belt buckle from looting a house, that he watches old Western movies, that he sometimes read newspapers. He believed in some type of god, he drives a motorcycle, he wears mismatching socks every single day. Ana looks up at Reyes, and considers what he wants to know. Does he want a soldier, or does he want Jesse?

"Ask him yourself," she hisses, before stomping off to go look for Fareeha.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey heres my tumblr come talk 2 me abt dad reyes please  
> @sqace-kid


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit, he really _is _a deadeye.__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is coming a bit late (sorrylads) since i was hella busy last week but im here + ive finally mapped out the entire story, so thats good. if i go @ the pace i want to this might end up being as long as 15 chapters, but who knows :^))

Ana's words float in Gabriel's mind like wayward spirits with no destination, nagging him for hours on end. He had seen the commotion going on from the control room, and as soon as he saw Jesse's face twist in agitation he was bolting from the room to get to Ana. Sure, he knew about her pistol, as though he wouldn't know about that, but he was unsure as to what Jesse was capable of. If he broke free from handcuffs once he might be able to do it again.

Reyes sits, in the same control room watching several different monitors all flashing different angles of the same little office Reyes has lived in for seemingly weeks. The angle just above Jesse proves to be somewhat ineffective, and in this day in age, hiding cameras in plain sight was a skill Gabriel very much prided himself in. One in each corner of the ceiling, and in each hinge of the door, all pointing at their target, who was currently sitting, possibly asleep although it was hard to tell with that damn shaggy head of hair he had. Reyes leaned back in his office chair leisurely, observing movement. 

He had been here for hours, watching what Jesse did when he thought nobody was looking. So far, he had yelled extensively, although Gabriel could not hear audio on the cameras. Now, it was about 3:30 am, several days since Ana had met with Jesse. Gabriel formed a routine, bringing the kid his food at 7 am, silent as Jesse attempted to bargain with him for such things like food or a change of clothes, and Gabriel would come back to the office for the rest of the day, to sit and watch.

He had purposely been ignoring Jack, and it seemed Ana was purposely ignoring him. When he traveled through hallways in an attempt to get back to the room, he would stop for no one, moving swiftly. Blackwatch hadn't been called back into play for about a week, and since the damage Jesse inflicted, getting agents riled up to fight had been a difficult and long task, one that Jack made himself in charge of. As far as Gabriel knew, his friend cleaned himself up, and was fully functional to command and lead. He was glad to see Jack so in tune with the program, which made it harder to keep Jesse a secret. Reyes wasn't one to spoil a good mood for Jack, moods that seemed few and far between.

Ana, however, was a different story. While Jesse slept, Reyes sometimes focused attention onto other cameras to locate Ana, track her down, and interrogate her. But whenever he left the room and when to her location, she'd disappear, as though she had never been there in the first place. She was a damn good sniper like that, gets in, does the job, gets out. But for her to withhold information like that was extremely unlike Ana, a woman who always reported findings in a timely manner. Whatever Jesse McCree said to Ana was worth finding out, worth putting the time into.

As his mind begins to wonder, he thinks about that kid and just what he'd done, really. It must've been a show, to watch this string bean take out officer after officer while wounded. Gabriel lets himself reflect, and realizes that he has never actually seen Jesse shoot. It was odd, taking in a recruit and having never seen their style of fighting, but Jesse was full of odd circumstances so one more added to the list was practically nothing. After the shape Jack was in when he talked to Gabriel and eventually sulked away, it was memorable to say the least. What went down in that hallway would've had to have been unforgettable, and Gabriel wonders about his gun, the one that did the job. A man's weapon tells more about them than a therapy session, he always thought, and said gun was practically a fossil, so aged and worn it was almost dust at this point. The metal was filthy, and strangely, there was a tiny spur on the butt end the jangled when touched. Gabriel remembers taking one look at the rusty scrap of metal, and immediately tossing it into a disposal bin. The mysterious red stains were too fresh, too easily accessible, too loaded with questions.

Now, he's curious. In the darkness of the room, Gabriel moves the cursor to the corner of one of the many screens, opening the files of records. They have tapes of every single day on the cameras, so Gabriel knows he just has to find the right file with the right hallway and he'll see Jesse in action. Minutes of typing in codes, clicking around folders, and checking dates finally paid off when Reyes finds the right tape, filmed a week prior. Feeling confident in Jesse's sleeping schedule, Gabriel closes out of the live feed and begins to play the old tape on all screens.

The footage is clear, absent audio, and he watches with bated breath. Suddenly, Reyes sees the beginning of the herd of agents come into the frame with guns in hand and Deadlock in tow. Gabriel closes up on Deadlock, getting as best a look as he can, and sees their mouths murmuring to one another. Then he sees Jesse, young and tired looking, soft eyes glancing to a man who is an inch or two shorter than himself with scars and a nasty looking lip piercing. His lips snarl at the other members, jerking nods follow, and Gabriel watches as the young men perform slight hand tricks, communicating in simple facial gestures like a real unit. Gabriel knows he has tried to teacher some recruits silent signals, but they all seem to fall on deaf ears as their young brains only want action and fast pace movement. There was a time and a place for quiet maneuvers, a lesson Gabriel has had to teach time and time again.

He watches on, as Jesse's bound hands move toward a large pocket on his baggy biker pants, ripped and bloody. Other agents move with him, making an effort to grab their weapons and unleash hell. Then, seemingly by the grace of God, Jesse's hands are free from constrictions, and in another second so are all his peers, and things go from bad to worse. Gabriel sits, helpless in his chair a week later, able to do nothing as he witnesses Jesse's gun tear through skull after chest, letting blood splatter his face as he pulls the trigger rapidly. It's quick, graceful, and while other members fall in the wake of bullets, Jesse dances around them and is not skimmed by a single one. Invincible.

Until the room is finally still, and it's only Jack and Jesse staring one another down like an old showdown west of the Mississippi, truly fit for a cowboy's death. And Gabriel knew Jack could kill Jesse, really should've killed Jesse in that moment, that second of time where even now, time felt frozen. It was a perfect opportunity to end it all, and yet Jack didn't pull the trigger.

A piece of Gabriel wonders if that was because Jack saw the same thing he had in the boy.

As Reyes watches the men's excited faces, something strikes Gabriel then; Why did Jesse look so out of it? While guns were blazing around the rag-tag group, wild grins were plastered on every member's face, glee evident on every inch of them. They were enjoying the bloodshed and flourished in the situation. Jesse, on the other hand, showed no emotion as he blew heads sky high, and didn't let anything on from where Gabriel could see. He didn't look happy or sad to do it. It was a face one might give if they were doing laundry. It was a mundane task, and the facial expression reflected that sentiment. He was desensitized to the process, and it was horrifying to watch unfold. Even the grin he gave Jack didn't seem to go to his eyes, like it faded away into tan skin. His mask was sunbitten, and Gabriel rubbed his tired eyes.

He continued on, witnessing the buttend of a gun connect to Jesse's temple and his body keeling over, completely out of it. The comforting pats on the shoulder from the agent to Jack, trying to keep his commander grounded and stable in this hellstorm. The strong arms picking Jesse up as though he weighed nothing, and the staggering steps Jack took  out of the frame and down the hall. Reyes could look for that footage, the moments down the hall and the arrival to the door; he decided against it, instead closing out the tabs and refocusing on Jesse's sleeping face, undisturbed. So peaceful, so much potential it made Gabriel's heart hurt. What lead Jesse down this dusty and dark path? Who _was_ he?

Gabriel sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

* * *

 

Morning trickled into the base, and Gabriel had planned out today's activities down to each minute. Strategy was the name of the game, and he played to win. It wasn't about missions, it wasn't about Jack, it wasn't even about Ana. Today was dedicated to finding out just what made Jesse McCree tick.

Reyes stands from his chair, knees popping, and takes one more look over the monitors. Jack was gone on a light mission -the first one since the funerals- and Ana went with him to be his moral compass. Who knows what kind of mood Jack was in at this point, and what he was willing to risk or lose. No, he needed someone to be his anchor, and Ana took the job without hesitation. No one had come into the control room, no one went out looking for him. Gabriel knew that today had to happen exactly according to plan.

With Jesse still asleep, Gabriel makes his silent exit of the room, and stalks down the hallways and pathways without drawing attention to himself. It was barren, like the apocalypse, and for once, Gabriel thrived in the silence that dripped down the walls and clogged the airways. He finally makes it to the door containing Jesse, and enters quietly.

He is leaning forward, snoring quietly in the dark. Gabriel walks toward the boy, reaching his hand into his pocket to retrieve the keys to the cuffs. As he walks behind Jesse, the kid lifts his head slowly, yawning dramatically. His eyes drift open, half lidded. "Oh, it's you." His words run together, sleep making them soft. "Ain't it too early fer breakfast?"

Gabriel works in silence, kneeling behind Jesse and pulling the keys out, letting them jingle in the quiet room. Jesse twists his head behind him in an effort to see what Gabriel is doing. His eyebrows shoot up.

"Well well well, look who finally grew a heart," he muses, smirking down at his commander. Gabriel lets his eyes catch McCree's for a moment, and drift back down just as fast to work on the cuffs. McCree laughs.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Jesse asks playfully.

It takes a moment for Reyes to respond. "Training starts today." The cuffs come undone, and Reyes knows he should have taken more precautions with Jesse. He knows that if Ana were here, she'd have a gun to the kid's head already and her finger on the trigger. He knows if Jack were here, by the time the cuffs were off Jesse's skull would be under Morrison's boot, no signs of mercy. But since he's Gabriel Reyes, he lets Jesse stand on his own, stretch out on his own accord, and do as he pleases. He watches, and observes his movements.

Jesse seems to notice this, and turns the face Gabriel with hands in his pockets casually, raw wounds glistening in the pale light. Gabriel grimaced at the sight of them, and McCree smirked.

"Ain't 'cha gonna recuff me, like the villain I am?" 

"We don't cuff our own," Reyes responds coolly, eyes hard and trying to drill a point into the boy. _You're one of us now. Get use to it._

Jesse's smirk fell, and he averted his eyes, clearly uncomfortable. "Right."

Gabriel nodded, and placed the cuffs and keys into his back pocket, walking towards the door. "Alright, we start now."

"Now? Whaddya mean?"

Gabriel turns, hand on knob, and motions Jesse towards him. He agrees, albeit hesitantly. 

"I'm taking you to the range, where I can see what you're made of. How you fight." His eyes narrowed, and his voices lowered dramatically. "Ya know, the important shit." Jesse nods in in understanding, and grins upwards. His bloody and lanky form leans back, as though he were at a pub with a long time friend discussing interesting stories from "back in the day." He needed some sense knocked into him, that was for sure. 

The cowboy is too rambunctious, truly a child. "Lead the way," he purrs.

As the two make their way down the hall, Reyes is sure to cover Jesse as much as possible with his own body, shielding him from prying cameras or nosy agents. The boy's cowboy boots click like heels on stiff tile, and Gabriel notices him whimpering with each step, He was still injured, something they needed to attend to, but with thoughts of how quickly this could all go to shit, Gabriel knows that Jesse's pain isn't his top priority at this point. Besides, he always had some Advil on him in just this case.

He was surprised to find McCree completely silent as they walk, obeying rules and seeming to understand the gravity of the situation he had been thrust into. One false turn or sideways glance, and Gabriel would be fired and Jesse would be killed. Neither of them were in the mood for such drama at this time of the day, early morning, so they both found it in their best interest to just shut the fuck up, and walk.

Once they made it to the training arena, Gabriel quickly punched in his code, making a mental note to clear the history before everyone woke up, and swiftly entered, pushing Jesse inside the chilled room before him. It was vast like a ballroom, where many dances had been performed in a hail of gunfire and sparring matches. Choreographed fights, much like a slow waltz, needed complete precision, absolute trust, and the right partner. It was a room that held blood, sweat, and tears in every crevice, every hole, and every vent.

"Smells like a hospital in here," Jesse exclaims loudly, letting his words bounce off the walls. "Seriously, has this thing ever been _used_ before? Or is it my Christmas present, a shiny new toy, all for me?"

Gabriel rolled his eyes, begrudgingly finding the comment amusing. "This room is as used as a lady of the night, kid. Don't disrespect her, or she'll bite ya back."

Jesse walked further into the room, letting his eyes run over everything with a look of awe. He whistled. "Wouldn't dream of disrespectin' a lady. Certainly not one as gorgeous as this."

Gabriel walked towards the table of weapons, and Jesse followed close behind. The table was decked out with weapons of every kind, some shiny from polishing, and others worn in and scuffed. The lay parallel to one another, and Gabriel reaches out to pick up one, cocking it back.

"Ain't ya concerned 'bout me?" Jesse asked, cautiously eyeing the gun in Reye's hands. "I did kill a lot of people, what makes you so sure I won't do it again?"

Gabriel looked over his shoulder, then back at the guns. "You haven't killed me yet, have you? I've got my back to you, you're uncuffed, no one else is around. You've had ample time to slit my throat and let me bleed out." He smiled softly to himself. "But you haven't."

"I might, what kinda criminal plans a murder out loud?" 

An idea blooms in Gabriel's mind like a morning magnolia, and a sly grin slips onto his face. "Here, how about this." 

Gabriel sets the now loaded gun on the table gently, and steps aside to make room for Jesse. He puts his arms behind his back, surrendering, and lets Jesse look over the guns, unarmed. If Jesse was going to kill him, he;d do it now; Gabriel was practically serving himself up on a silver platter and a gray tombstone. This was it, the final moment that Gabriel was giving Jesse. He could take the shot, and end it all. Run off into the light, steal some shit perhaps, and flee to his definition of freedom. Enter back into that world that he had just been saved from. Or, he could look over the guns, pick one of his choosing, and shoot all the targets set up for him to truly prove who he was, what he was, and what he could be. Show off,  be a golden boy. Prodigy. It was all McCree's choice.

But Gabriel already knew the answer.

And Jesse confirmed it, as he stepped towards the table, observing, and picking one up delicately. He checked if it was loaded, and turned the safety off. Then he pointed the gun at the targets, aiming carefully, and shot them all down effortlessly. His gun's kickback seemed to have no effect on his shooting, as he knocked off target after target, and Gabriel watched every second. He danced carefully, thought out, no time for screw ups. When Jesse shot, he shot to kill. The style was familiar to Gabriel; in fact, it was his own.

When McCree shot down all the prepared targets, he blew the smoke off the top of the gun and smirked at his shocked commander. The strain from shooting could not have been good on his wounded wrists, but even that didn't stop the boy from firing bullets off perfectly. It also means he's used to that kind of hurt, and has most likely had to deal with worse.

After a moment of thoughtful silence, Jesse piped up. "This guns shit, by the way. Wouldn't use this to pick my teeth."

Gabriel stood, dumbfounded. The kid had the skills, had the heart, had the eye. With the right trainer, Jesse could redeem himself. He could be an asset to them all, pay back his ticket to hell. Beneath all the scars and stolen property, Jesse McCree was gold. 

"That gun's worth more than your life, kid," Gabriel responded gruffly, and Jesse scoffed at the other man's words.

"Bullshit, ya know how much this belt buckle is probably worth?"

Gabriel rolls his eyes. "$20 and a blowjob?" He mumbled back.

"Who knows, maybe that's what the guy who actually bought this got it for," the kid said, setting the gun down to wipe dried blood off the "BAMF" belt buckle, "All's I know is, this things got a hell of a lotta stories to tell."

As the boy touches the belt buckle, Reyes examines the wounds on his wrists, They are puffy and swollen, bleeding and slightly purple. The cowboy has obviously been in a struggle with that chair, and Gabriel takes the Advil out of one of his pockets, handing the younger boy two tablets. Surprised but grateful, Jesse takes them quickly, and downs them dry. Gabriel knows that a new set of clothes are in order as well, but the present seemed much more interesting than whatever the future had to offer.

The two stand before one another, reflecting back. Just a few days ago, Jesse had been tearing his way down the hallway with a deathwish. Here he was now, injured and broken to hell, but functioning. He was alive, thriving, and cracking jokes. Some would say it's a miracle, but Gabriel is not a man to believe in such naive things. A sliver of the real Jesse, the one that begged to have his brains blown out in guilt, was shining through, and Reyes intended to be there to see the very end, no matter how bloody it was.

"Where's my gun at?" Jesse asked, breaking the silence.

"Thrown out. Thing was pure shit."

"What?" Jesse recoiled in shock, nose turning up in disgust of the action, as though the very thought of it made him sick. "It was a _relic_!"

Reyes crossed his arms. "If you're with Overwatch, then you have to have better weaponry than that. About as useful as a pack of matches, when you got a flamethrower two steps to your right."

"Then count me out!" The kid yelled in retaliation. "That gun's ma pride 'n joy. I shoot with it, or nothin'. Got it?"

Gabriel Reyes walked toward the prideful boy, staring him down like a bug. Damn his mouth and how frequently he used it to babble. "I don't take orders from you."

Jesse McCree stood on his toes, facing the older man, another challenge. "Throw my gun out, and I won't take orders from _you_."

Tension broke over them like waves at a beach, two brick walls facing one another, their horses too high to get off of. Both had something to prove, both wanted the upper hand, both wanted to win. Even if it wasn't a game, there was a winner and a loser in every situation. Gabriel was not a man to know very much about losing, and Jesse had lost so much he would do anything not to lose again. A table full of guns and bleeding wrists, the room was filled with two egos. How it managed to squeeze in with all the pride and tension was a mystery.

"Please," the kid whispered. "I need that gun. It's all I got left."

There he went. Pleading and begging for help. Gabriel knew he could do it, knew the consequences of doing so, knew what he was giving up if he gave in. It wasn't like him to roll over to an inferior, especially a murdering inferior that could snap his neck. But, he was human, when he woke up and went to bed. Made of flesh and bone, Gabriel knew in his heart of hearts that this kid was worth the trouble. Besides, it wasn't all he had, not really. Once he got the kid to see it, adjustment would be much easier for him. Scrub the dirt off his skin until he sparkled anew.

Reyes lowered his head in defeat. "I'll get your gun for you, kid. Promise."

Jesse's head perked up in happiness, stars practically in his eye, like a dog being called to attention, and he smirked. "Scout's honor?"

Gabriel, despite his best efforts, let out a chuckle.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for reading this story and giving me feedback, it seriously means so much to me, and i check the read + comments every single day. its really fun to write this and im glad i can do it. thank u thank u thank u thank <333333


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeehaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HNNNNNN im sorry this update is rly late my life has been kinda hectic and i havent had the time nor energy to update this but dont worry i will finish it istg
> 
> thank u for sticking with me, it really means a lot to see so much love for dad reyes. i will be buried with this headcanon. ily <33

Jesse's head was spinning after the target practice with Reyes, and he followed his new commander down the hall stealthily. Their feet moved quietly and made quick turns past each sharp corner and wall, McCree desperately trying to keep up as Gabriel sped along, not once checking back to see if he was following. Jesse knew that should say something about the trust that must've taken, but at the moment, his mind is a whirring computer trying to process what in the absolute _fuck_ was going on with him and Overwatch.

Sure, he had sold his soul to an old man who intended to groom him into his new pet, but he was nothing like Dale. Dale would've knocked Jesse down for slacking off for a second and had his eyes glued to the cowboy as they maneuvered their way around the base together; that saying the gang would even step _foot_ into a place as coordinated and clean as this. Dale would've called McCree out for being "too big for his own damn boots," or "the dumbest smart ass on the planet." Jesse would take each blow as though they were nothing, and he would walk to whatever gym was nearby and let all his aggression out there. It wasn't the healthiest options available, but when you live with a notoriously dangerous gang who has had a tight grip on your short leash for most of your life, you begin to take comfort in small luxuries like those gym visits. Now, as he tripped over one of his many injuries, Jesse searched his brain for answers to questions he could not voice. But as the mind tends to do, it wandered and stumbled drunkenly upon a place Jesse was reluctant to go to: his previous life.

Sure, he had let Gabriel watch him shoot and taken his offer to work for Overwatch, but he didn't really know anything about him. First and last name but that was about it; in fact, it was all he knew about himself. Gabriel didn't ask anything of substance from him. Not where he came from, not his family life, not anything about him personally, What their conversation boiled down to was "Do you know how to shoot, and can you follow orders?" Jesse could've been suffering from a terminal illness, but his new commander wouldn't have cared. 

But deeper within himself, he knew that this man, tall and brooding as he may be, would not caused half the damage Dale did. When he watched Jesse shoot, his eyes were wide with shock and awe, not with a sickening promise and danger. When he back-handed him, it wasn't to watch him squirm and bleed. It was to get him to calm down and listen. When Reyes gave him the choice to join or be locked up, it wasn't to make him into a machine. It was to offer a new life. He wasn't tied down, he was reinflated with a new sense of purpose. Gabriel offered to give him a piece of his old self back, a piece of Deadlock memorabilia. Was that trust? Or was that a man trying to do anything to keep the sharpshooter around? Jesse didn't even know the meaning of an "olive branch" at this point.

After his mind was beginning to ache from all the thoughts he had, the two rounded the last corner stealthily and were standing in front of a door that looked as bleak as all the others. Jesse stood beside Gabriel, and the commander reached out and turned the knob quietly.

"This is where you will report to at night," he says, and both enter the room. It's small, with a bed pushed into the furthest corner and a dresser pressed snugly beside it. Jesse let his eyes wander.

"Gosh..." he says wistfully, as Gabriel looks at him confused.

"You seem pretty enthused about a god damn tiny room, kid. Happiest I've ever seen a recruit," he muses, and Jesse looks back at Gabriel with shame colored cheeks, 

"I ain't ever had my own room before," he whispers. It was true; whenever Deadlock moved into a new house, Jesse had a sleeping bag and a ratty old pillow, but never a place where he could close the door and be completely alone. The biggest room would go to Dale and everyone else would scramble to the other rooms, sometimes claiming closets or garages. It was a dog eat dog world out on Route 66, and Jesse's bark wasn't loud enough for any kind of impact, especially amongst men who were not above cracking his skull if he got in their way.

Reyes sighed. "Not even at home with your ma and pa?"

Jesse, who had his back to Gabriel while he observed, went rigid. A cold sense of anger and dread seeped into his bone and he walked over to the bed to feel the material of the thin blanket, just giving his fingers something to do. "When am I gettin' my clothes? These ones reek of blood and gunpowder." McCree was avoiding the question, and Reyes picked up on that. Jesse stood in the silence and prayed to whatever god was listening to not let Gabriel delve deep into that territory of his life.

"I'll let Ana bring them to you, and check up on your injuries."

Before Jesse could turn around and object, the other man was gone and he was alone in his new room. McCree didn't know if he was angry, or if he was just tired of dealing with him, but he felt he struck a nerve. An unknown sense of guilt filled him, and Jesse carefully took his boots off in spite of the pain that racked his body. He felt his swollen eye pulse uncomfortable and one of his ribs was definitely swollen and throbbing. It wasn't the worst pain he had ever been in, but that didn't make it pleasant.

The space around him was stale from not being used, and Jesse took it all into his lungs, held it in, the let it go to mimic a cigarette. He knew he should cherish the fresh smell of the room before he tainted it with his smoke and guns, but the thought of finally having a place to be alone and by himself made him too giddy. Whichever route would get him to having his old shit back and a bed to lay his aching head, McCree was going to take at this point. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Jesse let the feeling surround him, and began humming a little tune he forgot the name to.

* * *

Ana gathered up all the supplies she would need to meet up with Jesse again, making sure to grab gauze and her secure kit from a drawer, and pocketing some band aids and a pack of cigarettes. After speaking with the cowboy last, Ana has felt very much so on edge, thinking back on some of his testimonials and confessions in that bleakly lit room. The look on his young face when she said something particularly witty, or something he was interested in. It was fresh as dew, even with the black eye and scars. Littered among those were childish freckles, and that's what made Ana move quick. She did it for those freckles.

As she grabbed some fabric to stitch up his clothing, Ana saw Fareeha enter the room, backpack on and standing like a statue.

"Mom?" she asked. "What are you doing?"

Ana looked up from her collection and fixed her daughter with a stern look. Caught red handed. "Parent stuff. Nothing you need to worry about right now."

"That's a lot of stuff, why didn't you get supplies from the infirmary? They probably have a better collection than your personal stash."

Fareeha, ever the clever girl, was right; the infirmary did have all she would need and more, but if Jack went in and saw a surplus of military issued supplies missing without anyone taking claim of their absence, Overwatch would be on complete lockdown. And with every Jesse had already caused, Ana knew that all that drama was not ideal.

 "What happened?" Fareeha asked once more. Ana shuffled under her equally stern gaze, like mother like daughter.

"Like I told you, it's nothing you need to be concerned with. Don't kids like you have homework?"

Her daughter grumbled, and folded her arms annoyed. "Homework is too easy, can I help you?"

"No." The answer was immediate. "Absolutely not."

"Why not? You let me help with patients all the time!"

"Yes, only when you are done with homework and I know it would benefit you in some way," Ana explained. "Trust me, you don't want to get tangled up with this."

Fareeha slammed her backpack onto the bed and took out numerous binders and pieces of paper. Clearly, she was upset with Ana, but right now was not the time to mend broken fences. She just needed some time to cool off and forget about this entire conversation; then, Ana would be there for her daughter and they would spend the rest of the day together. Meanwhile, Jesse was still bleeding somewhere and her medical supplies were needed. She places all the equipment McCree would need into a large bag, hopefully drawing attention away from her. Without exchanging another word, Ana slipped past Fareeha and went into the hallway, too much on her mind.

As she walked down the hallway, people's gazes averted from her, mostly likely in respect, and for once, Ana was glad that the mentality of "respect your elders" was so fundamental. Otherwise, she'd be caught up in some kind of scuffle and would never make it to Jesse in a timely manner. Quickly, she reads the room number from the message Gabriel sent her and finds her way along the many mazes and corridors She notices that the further she travels, the air gets colder and they move away from civilization until Ana finds herself in the hallway farthest away from the main rooms in the entire base. Gabriel was a paranoid son of a bitch after all.

One knock is carefully placed on Jesse's door, and it swings open with a loud squeak. Jesse stands in the doorway with no shoes on, and his flannel unbuttoned to reveal his scarred and bruised chest. In his mouth, lies a sliver of wood that dangles precariously. 

"Welcome to my humble abode," the boy grumbled, not unlike Fareeha, and steps aside to make room for Ana. "Shoes off, please. Don't make me feel weird."

Ana nods and toes her shoes off beside Jesse's door, entering and closing the door behind her. McCree walks to his bed and flops down, back first, staring at his ceiling. Ana unloads her bag on the dresser, taking out medication and tossing Jesse a pack of cigarettes. It lands on his stomach and startles him up.

"All I ask is to wait at least until I've left the room," Ana mumbles, only moments before the smell of smoke she sometimes smells on Gabriel wafts into her nose, and a soft "What was that?" comes from behind her. She sighs, and grabs the secure kit.

McCree lounges on his bed, a cigarette already half way smoked emitting fumes that stink up the room. Ana turns to face him, ordering him to sit up and remove his shirt.

"Could at least buy me a drink first," he says, peeling the torn and bloody garment from his body. It falls to a heap beside the bed, and the wounds on Jesse glisten and shimmer. The bruising is the worst part; purple and green splotches on his torso that are scattered randomly and painfully. Over his rib is swollen and has hints of red from blood under the skin. It's grotesque, and Ana wants to look away.

She glances up at Jesse instead. "How does this not disgust you?"

"Wow, that's literally the worst thing I've ever heard in my life," Jesse responds. "You treat all your patients like this?"

"Just the snippy ones," Ana says, delicately pressing one of the bruises. Jesse yelps in agitation, and she nods. "Good, it's not numb. They aren't too deep, and will go away in a week or two."

McCree nods and takes another drag. "Ain't it just my lucky day."

The tension in the room is palpable, and Ana knows that Jesse is not comfortable with her in the room. It's understandable, since the last time they were together, Jesse cursed her out and was willing to attack her if he had not been restrained. Clearly, he is still holding onto those emotions, and Ana wants to patch up whatever she can. One kid is already pissed at her, no use in making it two. Ana brings her hands out, palms up.

"Can I see your hands?"

Jesse eyes her and pulls them back, cradling them to his chest protectively, untrusting. "Why?"

Her voice softens into something more motherly. "I need to see if you've got an infection and what I can do to treat it if they are."

The answer seems to satisfy the boy, and after he looks past her shoulder at the medicine she has brought, he holds tanned arms out. Ana cannot help but notice the large tattoo on his arm, a long skull with weathered yet tacky flames licking the bottom. It looks painful and horribly done, like whoever did it was new to the game and/or completely drunk off their ass. It is faded, which is troubling to see on someone so young. It's worn like a badge of honor, and clearly, some backstory lies beneath its colorful ink. Ana is tempted to ask, but judging by the last in-depth conversation she and Jesse had ended so badly, she decides to let the issue rest, and focus on healing the kid. Lucky for him, Jesse does not have an infection, and with ointment and gauze, he is on his way to being completely new.

McCree inspects the tightly wound white fabric, poking it gently. "Damn doc, you sure are lockin' in the flavor, huh?"

"I'm not a doctor, and I don't know what that means," Ana responds, digging in her bag for antibiotics. Jesse snorts, and lights another cigarette.

"What do you call someone who carries around a sack of medicine and treats 'down on their luck' kids?" He asks back.

She thinks for a moment. "Careful."

He laughs, short and surprising, but still present. It was a stepping stone and a beginning point to starting to regain trust. It might take a long time, but Ana had nothing if not time on her hands, and if this kid was really everything Gabriel cracked him up to be in terms of shooting, she had a full plate. 

Finally locating the antibiotics, she tosses them to Jesse, instructing him to take two to ease the pain in his ribs and ankle, and to take two more in the next coming hours if the pain got severe. He nods, and downs the pills dry. Ana watches, and Jesse watches her back.

"Why do you keep doin' that?" He asks out of the blue.

"Doing what?"

"That. The whole 'parental' schtick. What gives with you monitoring me and my every god damn move?"

"In case you haven't noticed, you kinda aren't supposed to be here right now."

He smirks. "I know, but out of everyone to send to me, they send some lady who ain't even a doctor." Jesse's eyebrow shoots up. "Got any inside on that?"

A memory of Fareeha slamming her books down on the bed and her tired body walking away with Reinhardt during the funeral flashed into her mind, and Ana swallowed. "Well, I am a parent. And you are a child. Only made sense."

Jesse chuckles again, instead, a sick and mocking one, and lays back onto his bed once more with the cigarette and still shirtless. While Ana hunts down clothes, Jesse keeps talking to fill the empty void. Judging by the rambling nature of the conversation, Ana can tell the boy is reluctant to leave too much dead air between them.

"I ain't no kid, Miss Amari. It'd probably be in your best interest ta start treatin' me with some kinda _respect_  if we are gonna be workin' together. Deadlock didn't tolerate any kind of resistance, so don't be surprised if I take off and save the day way before any of you slimy sons of bitches do. Was kinda the top dog at Deadlock anyway. I know what I'm capable of and can get the job done, so technically speakin' I don't need any of you tagging along-"

That's when Ana draws the very firm line, and throws Jesse a black tee, smacking him in the face and blocking his words. They drip out so naturally, like a flowing waterfall droning on and on about how great and suave he is. Did he forget that Gabriel saved his ass and gave him this opportunity? Was he truly that dense?

"You done stroking your own ego? There is really no need to keep lying," Ana says, zipping the bag back up. Jesse carefully slides the shirt down himself, and places his elbows on his bent knees, leaning forward. 

"Who said I was lyin'?"

She turns, leaning back against the dresser and placing her palms behind her. "You're all bark and no bite, Jesse McCree. Caved and ran away from your gang as soon as the chance was given." She grins as she watches Jesse's face fall and his cocky mask crumble. "It's no secret you're good at what you do, but what you do is kill people, and I'll give you respect when you earn it. I don't give that shit out for free, ya know."

Jesse snarls, and scratches his head while looking away. "Damn all y'all, with yer big fuckin' heads. We ain't that different."

"You're right about that," Ana responds softly. "We both want to change the world and get rid of the nasty shit."

The silence is finally welcomed and light, so the kid feels no need to fill it with an argument. Simply staring at one another, Jesse smoking and Ana reflecting. She wonders about Fareeha, back at the room, doing her homework and still fuming with anger. If she could see this kid, not much older than her, bloody and smoking all his cares away. This was not what Ana wanted for her daughter, and she hopes Fareeha never ends up in a situation like this. Jesse's eyes are tired, and even though it is still fairly early on in the day, it has been many days since he's gotten a restful night sleep.

McCree yawns, and rubs his eyes. "Hate to end my housewarming party so soon, but I'm _beat_."

Ana nods. "That's understandable. I'll get all your required medical background information later." She turns around once more, picking up the bag. "I'll tell Gabriel about our talk."

"What is there to say?" He asks, eyes drooping and barely holding on by a thread. Ana shrugs. "Your injuries, and what not."

Jesse nods, mumbling "If you see Reyes, tell him I want my gun back pronto," and settles back on top of the bed. 

Ana looks at him funny, replaying the words. "A gun? Gabriel has a gun?"

"He's got my gun, and I damn well want it back before anything else happens," McCree says, closing his eyes. Ana thinks about responding, but decalres it a successful encounter, and she doesn't want to ruin it. She makes a mental note to ask him about that later and instead remembers a little gift she got snooping in Morrison's room after he left. She unzips the bag. "Hey, Jesse."

It grabs his attentions, and the kid opens one eye. Ana reaches into the bag, and pulls a large cowboy hat out, tossing it to him. "Yeehaw."

"About damn _time_." The boy smiles broadly, chuckling, and places the hat on his head, tipping the brim against the light. It looks natural on him, as suspected as the nose on his face. Ana can't help but smile softly at the kid, hands on his stomach and hat pulled low. This was a home now, a place where he was now comfortable and sated. A place of growth. And what a place it was, for someone pulled out of hell and raised on practically nothing.

She leaves silently, quickly tieing up her shoes as Jesse snored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...on a scale from one to ten how mad would yall be if i took the mchanzo out and instead gave u a long mchanzo one shot..................... the way i have it planned out so far feels rly tacked on, and i never intended this to be a mchanzo story anyway...............


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse McCree found dead in Miami. He's okay, he's just dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can i just say thank u to everyone who commented about the mchanzo decision? i expected people to get mad or something, and seeing so much enthusiasm for a headcanon ive grown extremely attached too is rly sweet
> 
> im sorry updates have been slower i got a cat and my laptop is bugging out Real Bad so i might need to get a new one.
> 
> also im hitting the problem that usually comes about to me whenever i write multichapter, when i suddenly get to a point where i just hate everything im writing and get sluggish. ill push past tho
> 
> this came out way longer then expected, its almost 5k

If there was one thing Gabriel didn't see himself dwelling on in his life, it was rifling through the garbage for the damned pistol of a kid from Santa Fe he plucked off the street from a pack of low life criminals. And while it was not the weirdest situation he had ever been in, not by a long shot, Gabriel still thinks this one is at least memorable. Especially since Jesse was so top secret, very _hush-hush_ between two of the three top members of the organization. Sticking his neck out for this kid, Reyes sure was going soft.

His hands pillaged through heaps and heaps of trash as he wondered how it got so fucking _filthy_ around here; someone was getting lectured about clean space and consideration to their fellow man. The filth was just never ending, as Gabriel pulled out wrapper after fruit peel after container. The cool grasp of metal never made contact and Reyes sighed as he continued digging.

Suddenly, the officer hears a soft noise somewhere behind him, as he picks his head up from the trashcan and inspects the area around him, already planning a story out about dropping something inside the can and looking for it. However, he is met with the same empty hallways, nothing but him and the garbage surrounding him accompanied by the hum of lights overhead. Gabriel rolls his eyes at his own paranoia and continues looking for the gun.

The hallways feels too quiet and too loud all at the same time, the lack of noise and the shrill loudness of the lights above contrasting in a hellish battle in Reyes' ears. It's maddening, having nothing watching you and also something watching you and not seeing anything. He's tempted to turn around and shout, but he knows nothing is there. What could that phantom feeling be then, eyes pierced through your back? Maybe it's the stress, maybe it's all the commotion that's happened within these few short days, but Reyes feels something. It's like someone has caught his hand in the cookie jar, the trashcan being the jar and the old gun of a convict being the elusive cookie. Maybe it's guilt, but guilt to what? What he was doing was perfectly rational, at least to him, so why feel so wrong and so bad all of a sudden?

Reyes digs until all the garbage is at his feet in piles, and he realizes he has the wrong trash can. Slowly, he picks up each article and quietly places it back into the can, the shady feeling never quite rolling off his back.

* * *

After a few more minutes of searching high and low for that god damn gun, he feels the handle wrap around his fingers as he extracts it from the entangled mess, a creature pulling it into the depths of hell. The gun is slightly sticky, but Gabriel assumes it always feels like that and the cowboy will be none the wiser.

He sticks it in the pocket and makes his way back to Jesse's room, knocking once and standing back to let the door open. When it doesn't open immediately, Reyes feels a spark of nervousness in his veins and he knocks again, harder this time, more demanding. Manners will be brought into the program, Gabriel was sure of that now.

A few seconds pass and Jesse stands before him with a ratty cowboy hat, a tired face, and new clothes adorning his bandaged body. He yawns and looks up to his commander with a sleepy smirk, saluting him with two fingers at his forehead.

"Howdy," he rasps, voice thick with sleep, "'m sorry I didn't hear ya, was out like a light."

Reyes rolled his eyes, and sidestepped the boy to enter the room. He heard an annoyed "Well, _'hello'_ to you too," muttered from behind, but he chose not to call the kid out just yet. He was still technically fresh meat after all.

"I've got your shitty gun," Gabriel announces.

Jesse is standing next to him in a second, eyes wide and sleep rubbed from his face completely. Reyes takes the gun out of his waistline, checking the round before setting it on the dresser. McCree runs over to it, carefully grabbing her and examining her exterior.

"Thought I'd never see her again..." Jesse whispers, to either Gabriel or the gun, Reyes can't tell. "Thought she was gone forever."

Gabriel lets a few moments of peace between the cowboy and his instrument go by before he speaks. "Well, she's here, so let's get a move on. You need to be dressed and ready to work in 5 minutes _niño_ , got that?"

Jesse turns around with a broad grin, electricity flowing throughout the room and livening up the space between them. It was infectious, Jesse's somewhat hyper mood and it only made Gabriel want to train more, corral his lanky movements into something more practical than strutting around an official government agency like a fuck all _cowboy_. The energy was anything but tense.

" _Etendido_ ," Jesse responds.

Gabriel chooses to stand watch outside of McCree room as he hears shuffling and grunted out swears of exertion. He certainly was working himself up in there, probably trying his best to finally impress with his weapon of choice. Generally speaking, Reyes believes a soldier should be versatile in any weapon they can get their hand on in the midst of battle and combat, but he seemed to let things slip with McCree a lot, so why draw the line here? Let the kid have his day in the sun.

Jesse opens the door and walks out, black body armor showing off how thin and fragile all his limbs were and making him look like a bobby pin in his dark colors. The cowboy seemed to think he was tough shit, flicking the brim of his hat up and out of his eyes and shooting a finger gun at Gabriel.

"Ready when you are captain."

Reyes rolls his eyes at the boy and Jesse chuckles while putting a hand on his outrageous belt buckle and setting the other on his thigh holster. With all the swagger of a newborn gazelle, the two carefully make their way down the halls to the training room to begin work. Gabriel knows that Jesse thinks he knows what's going down, but the commander still had a few tricks up his sleeves to hopefully knock the kid down a peg or two. Make sure he learns just who is in charge here, and where respect needs to be given and received. 

Jesse's boots make a quiet noise, a soft _jingle_ with the spurs, and Reyes hopes to whoever happens to be listening that he can make this work.

Without detection, Gabriel and McCree make it to the training room, empty and still like a morning river. McCree's boots take him to the ammunition rack to load his gun, and Reyes stands behind him with a raised brow. "What do you think you're doing?"

Jesse slowly turns, pressing in a bullet to the chamber. "Uh, loading my gun up?"

"Did I tell you that we were going to work on your aim, McCree? Or did you just assume that I brought you here to shoot empty targets?"

Jesse looks at him with confusion, looking back to the ammunition while slowly setting his gun down, defenseless. "Whoops."

Reyes nods. "We are going to work on physical strength today, see just what you're made of." He walks over to the control panel, tapping in a few codes to remove the targets and clear out the room, leaving it in a plane stretch of matted flooring with bright lights shining above. Reyes jumps over the barrier and enters the floor, pulling out an old fashioned stopwatch and clicking it a few times.

"McCree, let's go," he says without looking up. The cowboy follows in step, tipping his hat against the harsh lights.

"The hell you mean 'physical strength?'" Jesse asks, hands on his hips and an agitated look on his face. Reyes peers down at him.

"Blackwatch isn't just about who can shoot the best or take the most blood. We aren't some kind of shitty gang like you're used to," Gabriel says, taking note of the glare being shot at him, "we strategize, and used whatever method will give us the best results. Sometimes it involves weapons, other times it includes our fists. You need to learn to adapt."

Jesse chuckles humorlessly. "Ya think I don't know how to throw down some sorry sons of bitches? Deadlock wasn't just about shootin' either."

"Never said it was. Just sayin' you need to learn how to fight _correctly_."

Reyes stands before Jesse, who is a full head shorter than him and about a hundred pounds lighter. His eyes were worn and his hands calloused from years holding a gun in a young grip. Sand forever caught in his boots, a kind of filth that could never truly be scrubbed away. 

"Let's get to work," he says, and McCree swallows.

* * *

 

5 hours later, Jesse was lying on the floor in a full sweat, panting and gasping for breath while Gabriel looked on, emotionless. He had made the kid run mile after mile, pick up a multitude of weights, and push his physical capabilities far beyond what he thought he could go. Jesse threw up twice, said he was gonna give up three times, and passed out once. But the day was over, and no one had died, despite the numerous times McCree accused Gabriel of trying to kill him.

The lights were utterly blind, and Jesse feels bile rising in his throat but fights it down. He wasn't gonna puke on his commander's boots, not today and not ever.

"We're done for today," Reyes says, and Jesse raises a tired fist in the air, a soft "Woo-hoo" escaping in an exhale. Gabriel helps him up, patting him on the shoulder and eyeing him up once again. McCree places his sore arms behind his head to regulate his breathing. closing his eyes to take in deep breaths and let them out slowly. 

"You did good Jesse," Gabriel says. "I expect this level of training every day."

McCree tries to respond, but only nods in acknowledgment. He was going to absolutely broken tomorrow, Jesse was just sure of it. _Aw hell, I'm gonna sleep like a fuckin' **log** tonight_ , he thinks. He replays all the exercises that Reyes made him do in excruciating detail, every foot connecting with the ground and every drop of sweat into his eyes. McCree had never been worked harder in his life, even running with a gang was an easier feat.

Gabriel directs him to a water station, telling him to hit the showers and be back out in fifteen minutes.

"Come out late and I'll have your hide," he said.

Jesse stomped off, grabbing a bottle of water and chugging it like he was dying, which he can't be too sure he isn't, and eyeing the wall of weapons. It's large, with a wide span of different tools, like hatchets and strangely enough, a quiver of arrows with a sleek bow to match. Jesse thinks it's a bit old-fashioned, but he keeps it to himself. Beside it, large knives glitter in the light with their reflective surfaces, guns set up in a neat row with the safety firmly on. After being around pieces of shit weaponry held together by hot gule and sheer willpower, the cowboy is in awe of just how many objects he now had access to, that he will learn to master and perfect for the government. 

After downing two water bottles, McCree hustles to the showers and peels off the armor from his bruised body. Inspecting himself in the mirror, he finds there's nothing new, nothing he hadn't seen before, only bruises and a few cuts. After flexing his left hand, Jesse finds a sharp pain emulating from it, most likely from the weights he had to carry and run with. To top it all off, sometime while he was running, the pack of pills Ana gave him fell out, leaving his injured ribcage pulsing and a faint headache forming. The words of Gabriel, " _I expect this kind of training from you every day,"_ ring in his head like a church bell.

The rest of his clothes come off, the hat placed on a bench, and Jesse enters a shower, lathering up his hands and washing his sweaty locks for the first time in a number of days. It feels heavenly to be cleaned finally, and Jesse is contempt to stay under the spray for the rest of eternity. However, the threat is looming, and McCree decides to just make it easy for himself. He turns the water off, towels off, and exits the steamy room while adjusting his hat on his damp hair.

Reyes is polishing one of the guns when Jesse walks back out. He looks up and eyes him. "Twelve minutes. Impressive."

"Look at me, bein' a good 'lil soldier," McCree coos, and Gabriel scoffs while looking back down to his task at hand.

"Try again cowboy, your fly is down."

Eyes going wide, Jesse looks down to confirm the fact that yes, his fly is down and yes, he did not notice. He quickly fixes the problem and stands proudly in front of his commander. 

"Admit it, I've come a long way since you met me!"

Gabriel rolls his eyes, albeit with a touch of fondness that Jesse detects. "This is the first day I've even scratched the surface of our regimen, don't get cocky."

Jesse lets out a fake gasp. "Me? Cocky? Well, I never." It makes Reyes laugh, a quiet chuckle that feels secret, and McCree beams with pride. He was slowly getting used to working with this guy, and the feeling seemed mutual. A sense of comfort was being built, and it made Jesse's smile fall. What was this that was happening? This wasn't something the cowboy had experienced before; Deadlock never joked around like this, and when they did, it was usually while they were mocking some poor bastard's crying face or broken possessions. And while McCree never really meant the laughter he spewed with the old guys, he never truly laughed with anyone else period. Not in a long time at least. Not since--

"We're done for the day. Rest up and be ready at sunrise, no excuses," Gabriel says, and Jesse focuses on the man's face, a ghost of a smile present. Jesse forces one out too and places Peacekeeper into his thigh holster for safe keeping. He chooses not to dwell on the look Gabriel gave him, one of pride and mirth. Before Reyes can say anything else to him, Jesse makes his exit and quietly walks to his room, instead thinking about getting in touch with Ana once more about medications since he is fresh out. His headache has only intensified since the shower, and he yearns for the comfort of a bed if time allows.

 Finally making it to his room, McCree places his hat on the dresser and kicks his noisy boots off, flopping into bed with a tired groan. Every joint protests the movements, and the cowboy holds the pillow to his freckled cheek in order to get some much-needed shut-eye. He's out in seconds.

However, McCree is interrupted from his sleep by a brisk knock on the door, rapid succession and hyper. It doesn't sound like Ana's soft knock or Gabriel's commanding knock, Jesse realizes. His sleep clouded mind, however, fails to acknowledge this as he pads over to the door slowly, yawning all the while.

"I'm comin', I'm comin'," he says, slightly agitated. "What do ya want--"

The words die in this throat as door opens and standing before him is a little girl he has never seen before holding a gun to his face.

* * *

 _It's not fair, it's not fair, it's so not **fair**!_ She thinks while staring at the ceiling, a scowl on her face.

Fareeha lays on her back, feet kicked towards the sky and homework completed by the foot of her mother's bed. Her arms are extended by her sides like wings, and the small girl groans, covering her eyes in anger.

It was not like her mother to keep secrets, that's for sure. A white lie every now and again is understandable to Fareeha, but for some reason, this does not feel like a white lie. While only being a child, Fareeha prided herself in being at least sensible, sensible enough to tell when her mother is lying to her face and withholding information. "Parent stuff" was not a clever mask, and Fareeha removed her hands from her eyes.

Sure, she could leave the situation be and go find someone to go talk to, but then she wouldn't be an Amari. No, that entailed digging deep for information and finding out the truth by any means necessary. It was only fair, she concluded, that she know what was going on with her own mother. Fareeha thought back, remembering her mother holding the load of medical supplies. She knew her mother was not a doctor, and that if anything serious enough to require large amounts was happening, Angela would've been contacted. But no, around the base was slowly beginning to come back alive with new missions and meetings. Meetings that her mother was starting to miss. She never missed a meeting if she could, so clearly, something -or, _someone_ \- is taking her time up.

It all started after the funeral, Fareeha realized. After that day, her mother had been occupied and distracted, sometimes letting go mid conversation to "think." And when Fareeha questioned her, her mother simply said "Business stuff, you know how it goes."

Her mother was right; Fareeha did know how it went. And it did not go like this.

She sat up quickly, balling her fists up. She was going to get to the bottom of whatever was going on, even if it meant going behind her mother's back. She climbed off of the bed, leaving the room and shuffling down the hallway.

Fareeha passed many people who paid her no mind, some giving a polite "hello" while others gave her a jerky half wave. She nodded at them all, a girl on a mission. She passed throughout hallways, and eventually ended up at the security room.

Usually, Athena tracked who was leaving or entering the base, so the room was only used for emergencies. The door opened with a small code, and Fareeha enter to see all the bright screens light up in black and white imagery with silence coating the walls. Since the room was hardly used, Overwatch invested very little into security cameras and thus left them without color or sound. Fareeha was not deterred as she sat in the cool chair.

Her mother was hiding something, and Fareeha was going to look for it.

Knowing how crafty she was, Fareeha decided to forgo the big rooms that would be too obvious. It would be more likely that a secret would be hidden in a nook or cranny, so Fareeha clicked around until she found a long abandoned hallway full of empty rooms. Her eyes scanned each monitor for a detection of movement in any of the rooms, something to catch her eye. Her mind began to go a bit fuzzy from the screens, so she rubbed her eyes and looked again. Suddenly, she sees it: a person.

Suddenly, she sees it: a person. Seeing someone is not exactly out of the ordinary, but seeing a stranger who had clearly made a home in the room dozing off in an empty hallway while missions were going on was certainly bizarre. 

Fareeha enhanced the picture until it filled the screen and she took in every inch of the room: a young looking boy was passed out on the rumpled sheets, bandages around his wrists and a slightly puffy-looking left hand. A large brimmed hat was placed on his dresser, and cowboy boots were haphazardly tossed onto the floor. His chest rose and fell with even breath, and he looked all around peaceful.

She had never seen this boy before, but for some reason, he felt familiar. Like she has heard stories about him, myths and riddles. In a weird way, Fareeha felt like she knew this person.

That feeling only made her more cautious, as she memorized the room number, reverted the monitors back to their original format, and left with questions whizzing in her head she had no answers to. Fareeha raced back to her room and removed the small gun her mother gave to her for defense and training from beneath her bed. She checked the bullets, psyched herself up, and made her way to the room where the stranger was snoring to hopefully to get some answers.

 

* * *

 

Jesse peered down the barrel of the gun into the girl's eyes, which were blazing and angry. The cowboy brought his hands up in defense; He of all people knew not to judge a kid's shooting ability too quickly based on age. 

"Who are you?" She asked, stepping closer. "Where did you come from?"

McCree swallowed and gave her a fearful smile. "Golly, this sure is a surprise. How can I help you, 'lil lady?"

The girl placed her finger on the trigger like a warning. "Answer me!"

"I'm Jesse," he responded calmly with arms still raised, "Can I get your name?"

"Why are you here?"

McCree scratched the back of his head, averting his eyes for a moment. "Now see, the thing about that is that... it's kind of a secret. One that's a bit important for my wellbeing."

She steps forward. "Funny, since right now, your wellbeing matters on your ability to actually spill your guts. I'll gladly spill them for ya."

Jesse gives a gentle grin to her as he begins to lower his arms ever so slightly. "You really are Ana's daughter."

Clearly surprised, the girl's eyes go wide and she lowers the gun off of Jesse's face, but not off of his body completely. In some aspects, she is the spitting image of Ana, with dark skin and darker eyes that burn when angered. The matching symbol is a tell, but McCree knows that even without it, he'd be able to tell. In other ways, she is all her own. For example, she was willing to kill to get answers that were deserved.

"Hi Fareeha," Jesse says with his arms now by his sides comfortably.

She glares at him sourly. "How do you know who I am?"

"I'm familiar with your ma, Ana." He gestures to the bandages on his wrists. "She patched me up."

"What happened?"

"Kind of a long story."

"I've got time."

He chuckles good-naturedly. It was nice to be around someone younger than himself, someone who matched his energy level. Fareeha sighed as she entered the room, going over and sitting on Jesse's messy bed, back straight as a pin.

"Don't think I'm allowed to tell ya," he clicks his tongue, strolling over to the dresser and placing the hat on his head. McCree has a feeling he won't be sleeping anytime soon, not until this girl is satisfied with his answers. And that may be never be.

She crosses her arms, agitated. "My mom has been acting really weird since that whole funeral thing. Got any insight on that?"

He breaks out into a sweat. "Not a clue, doll."

Fareeha places the gun beside her, a sudden sad look in her eye. "I don't like being lied to, I'd appreciate some truth finally." Her eyes race up to meet Jesse's. 

"Why aren't ya scared of me?" He asks suddenly, leaning back against his dresser. It seemed strange that some little kid who didn't know him burst into his secret room and demanded answers. A part of him laughs at the fact that it wasn't the goody-two-shoe blondie but instead, a little girl. Said girl places her face into her palms and huffs out a breath, almost a laugh.

"You don't seem too frightening. You're wearing a cowboy hat for god sake."

Jesse's mouth splits into a wide grin. Finally, someone isn't treating him like a criminal. Granted, she still had no idea he was the cause for that funeral and that he has killed many _many_ people. But for now, Jesse was just going to enjoy the fact that he had questions for her, and she had questions for him, and both of them were most likely not going to get answers. And he feels like they're both okay with it. 

Carefully, Jesse walks over and places his hat onto the girl's head, letting the brim cover her eyes. "It's a pretty sweet hat, ya gotta admit."

She scoffs. "So what are you, some real life cowboy?"

"Bingo. Ridin' horses 'n everythin'."

There's a pause as Fareeha takes the hat off and looks up at Jesse, one eyebrow raised. "My mom patched you up?"

"Yeah, I got knocked up pretty bad. But I'm all better, thanks to your ma."

"Why are you in the abandoned hallway of Overwatch?" She finally asks, stern gaze pinning him between a rock and a hard place. He weighs his options: on one hand, he can come clean to this kid and finally have another person to chat to besides Ana and Gabriel. Plus, it'd be nice to have someone not treating him like a child for once. But on the other hand, this girl might be a blabbermouth and it might get him in major trouble. If she tells the right people at the right time, Jesse McCree will be dead as a doornail.

"Your ma saw me while she was on a mission and brought me back here, saved my life." 

It's not a total lie since she did save his life. Fareeha seems satisfied with the answer and nods in response. "So this is temporary?" 

"Yup." Also not completely a lie; who knows how long this arrangement will last. If Fareeha found out, it was only a matter of time before everyone else did.

Fareeha seems to believe every word he says, and she is about to get up before Jesse calls out, "Wait!"

She turns and looks at him, an eyebrow up. He knows this is risky, knows it could backfire. But Jesse has to try. "I need you to promise me something."

When she remains silent, Jesse continues talking. "You can't tell anyone you saw me here."

Immediately, the girl's guard is up and her eyebrows shoot up in suspicion. "Why not?"  

Jesse uses all his years of lying to help him out of this situation, to guide him into the clear. "Jack didn't want Ana taking me in, said that they had 'bigger issues' at hand. If you tell, your mama will be in hot water." 

Hearing his own words bite at him, makes him feel physically ill. It was one thing to lie to Gabriel and Ana, who never would rely or look up to him in any way, shape, or form. But this young girl, no older than when he first joined a gang, looked up at home like she ate up every word he spewed. He had no reason to lie, she most likely thought. Who would lie about something like this? Only if you were trying to cover up something truely horrific. The young Amari was borderline foolishly trusting, just like her mother. 

Fareeha nods understandably. "I won't tell."

In a moment of weakness, Jesse sighs and gives a tired smile. "Thank you, Rosa." And when the questionable look comes, he corrects himself. "I mean, Fareeha."

She gives him one more look and collects her gun into her hands while standing. They exchange a glance, mutual respect, and she makes her way to the door. With a small grin, she tips an imaginary hat in his direction, which he responds with his own hat tip. The door slides open then shut, footsteps becoming quieter as Jesse is left by himself once more, shaken thoroughly. 

He then slowly lights up a cigarette and begins to dig his fingers into the purple bruises, comtimplating.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i forsee a certain boyscout and cyborg in your future..,..,.,,,...,,. >:3c


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He couldn't be a secret forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *emerges from a dumpster covered with dirt and twigs*
> 
> theres no excuse for the lateness of this chapter im just a shitty author
> 
> for what its worth im really sorry for making you wait

It took lots of time and work, but eventually Jack got the facility up and running once more, missions starting to go back out and deals beginning to be made once again. In the time that Overwatch was mourning, the Strike Commander had been hiding away, from all who tried to comfort or discuss the day with him. It was still an open wound, leaving him bloody, but at least Jack had the foresight to hide it and himself, in order to make the process easier. It was a selfish feat, but Jack barely had anytime to think about what he was doing with all the nightmares he kept getting.

He was a man who had been practically to hell and back, seen death and life all in a span of hours, watched a man's brain explode into fragments and land at his feet. One moment was perfect harmony and the next all hell broke loose. It was not uncommon for Jack to take a life or two in a single day, and he accepted his duty as a leader. But after the earthquake, it was him and only him that would face the aftershocks alone.

No matter how hard jack tried, he just kept seeing the crazed look in the kid's eyes, or more so, the lack thereof. He didn't look happy to do what he was doing, but he didn't exactly look all too upset either. A face so young doing things so mature, it was enough to keep a man lying awake at night for days, tired eyes left to roma the ceiling and wonder where they went wrong.  

Six bottle of booze and two weeks in, the Commander decides that it was time to start back up again and begin to pick up the pieces that stupid fucking kid left.

Neither Ana nor Gabriel had checked up on him in the time that he had been drowning himself in bitter agony, which was extremely uncommon for the three leaders. They were a tight knit family who went through the soldier program together, stuck like glue and never let go. It was odd that Ana had not brought him tea or Gabriel had not given him an ear to listen. There had been countless time that Jack had held Ana while her body quaked in fear from a nightmare or when Gabriel lashed out and was just about ready to crack his skull. Jack had always been there for them.

So, where were they when he needed them?

As he walks down the hall, passing agent after agent who dare not to make eye contact in fear of being throttled, Jack clenches his fists. It was all that fucking kid’s fault; he was the reason Overwatch practically shut down and took and “administrative leave.” He was the reason he missed many nights of sleep in fear.

Gunned down by a god damn cowboy.

It hurt in a weird kind of way, a way he was not used to and a way he was not willing to revisit. There was something about the circumstances or where and when that made the cut deeper and more deadly. Jack could take comfort knowing that the kid was six feet under and rotting away while Jack breathed air that was free of his presence. 

But Morrison had better -and more important- things on his mind. The approached the outside track in the early hours of the morning, meeting the eyes of many young recruits who were ready for a day of hard work and training. He clapped his hands, and began to get to work.

* * *

Jesse didn't sleep after meeting with Fareeha; he instead chose to pace about the room and smoke cigarette after cigarette while worrying all the way. The day's events began to gnaw on him, and Jesse could only reflect on what happened and what was to come. The uncertainty of it was unsettling to say the least, and the cowboy knew he was powerless in the situation he was practically forced into. But his anxiety wouldn't let him forget the past. The future was unknown but the past was a painful memory that could only hope to be drowned out with liquor.

 _Rosa._ He called her _Rosa._

The name left a bitter taste in his mouth, left it feeling sick and tired all at once. Jesse thinks he may throw up, but quickly swallows it down with a gasp and sits on the edge of his bed. Her face is in his mind; her smile would forever be with him, and Jesse almost thinks he deserves it. Deserves to only look back and never actually be back. Like he was standing behind a glass panel, cursed only to see but never to touch, just out of reach.

He wonders where Gabriel and Ana are, since today was supposed to be a training day and he was certain being late for the second day would be frowned upon to say the least. Perhaps Fareeha got a bit chatty and decided to spill the beans. What would become of him if he got found out? Where would the road take him, who would take him? Sure he was raised to be self dependent, but after Overwatch he knew it would be difficult to be alone. The taste of forbidden fruit was sweet and Jesse knew taking comfort in it too quickly would be his downfall. But it still left the question; where are Gabriel and Ana?

McCree drums his fingers on his knees. Sure he had only been around the facility twice, once with the Deadlocks and once to get to training, but he was confident in himself finding the route to the gym and hopefully meeting Gabriel there, saving both of themselves the trouble. After all, it was the early hours of the morning, so Jesse didn't expect too much commotion going on.

He stood, retracing the map in his mind and shoved his feet into the boots. As he walked, he placed his hat on his head and crept out, attempting to be stealthy. McCree silently wished he had taken the spurs off his boots or perhaps went barefoot, since the metallic noises caused slight echos as he walked. It made him feel like he was walking down a hospital corridor, with white tiles that shined and bleak walls that did not. Added to the fact that if McCree was caught he could be killed, it felt like something out of one of the old horror movies he used to watch with his sister.

Quickly losing that train of thought, the boy wandered and wandered until eventually he found a familiar looking door with a familiar looking lock. Feeling dumb, McCree turned around and found himself staring into the eyes of...

Well, he wasn't exactly sure. They were shorter than he was by a good head, head to toe coated in metal with accents of green lights. On his face was a green viser that gave away no facial expressions and left a cold stare. McCree had seen omnics, but he didn't know they allowed them to fight in Overwatch.

Suddenly, he was aware of the situation and attempted to lay back against the door and edge his way out of the omnic's way, never leaving his presumed field of vision. He didn't know how or why this onmic was right behind him, but he got a vague feeling he shouldn't piss it off.

"Who are you?" The machine asked with a human voice only slightly flavored with mechanics. Jesse's eyes went wide.

"Uh... who's askin'?"

"Me. I'm asking. And funnily enough, I'm also expecting an answer."

 _Of course, of all the onmics I get, mine's a sarcastic dickhole,_ Jesse thought irritably. _Just my luck._

"Why don't I get your name first, pardner?" McCree asked to diffuse suspicion. It was a risky gamble but he was also half way off the door and thus half way to bolting away to his room where he was going to stay put to evade death, possibly by the onmic before him.

Said onmic seemed to size him, getting an eyeful of his rumpled sleep attire and undoubtedly smoking stench.

"I can't believe they let in an actual fucking cowboy," the omnic muttered quietly. "And they thought letting me in was strange. That's all kinds of fucked up."

McCree raised an eyebrow and the onmic sighed. 

"I'm new here. To Overwatch I mean. They should've told me they got a cowboy, I would've signed up a lot quicker," they joked. McCree stopped inching out of the way, and looked at the now out stretched metal hand in front of him. It glittered in the lights and looked cold, but Jesse shook it quickly.

"Genji Shimada," they said.

Now Jesse really had to play his cards right. Should he reveal his name to a stranger he met while trying to sneak into the training room, or should he lie to save his own hide? He thought about Fareeha and seeing the look on his face when she talked to him, and decided that if he was going to stay here, something had to give eventually and he couldn't be a secret forever. And preferably, he wanted a few friend to help him when eventually word did get out so that not everyone would be trying to murder him.

"Jesse McCree."

The omnic nodded. "Seems fitting for a cowboy. Hey, were you trying to get into the training room?"

Jesse balanced on his heels. He couldn't exactly tell the onmic he was planning on meeting Reyes here secretly in the early hours of the morning only to be a dumbass and forget the lock on it. "Not really."

"Oh. Well than, excuse me." Genji gently pushed past McCree to get to the code panel, punching in the numbers and entering. He stopped in the doorway, and held it open. "Last chance?"

McCree found himself intrigued by the onmic, and just how he moved. He didn't seem robotic or even talk like one. He had all the proportions of a smaller man, and Jesse wanted to know more about Genji and who he was. This was the first chance at a friend, not a child or a mentor, and Jesse wanted to take the opportunity.

He followed Genji into the training room, and heard it lock behind him.

* * *

 After Jack trained the troops outside and made them run practically into the ground, he got on his communicator and called Gabriel up, hoping to set up a time to meet up together ad just talk. It had been seemingly forever since the two simply met up and discussed life and Overwatch, and if Jack was being honest with himself. he missed the gentle conversations that lasted hours and were filled with inside jokes and little secrets shared by no one else, not even Ana.

His heart soared when the called was picked up.

"Hey," Gabriel said gruffly, like he had just woken up.

"Gabe, are you awake and dressed?"

"Mmm, no." _Dammit Gabriel._

"Well, could you? I wanted to meet up before the mission in Dorado to discuss logistics and strategies." Jack walked down the hallway towards Gabriel's room noting how the hallways were getting more and more crowded as time went on. It was strange for Gabriel to not be up and ready, since he is usually training lackwatch early and more harshly than the rest of the organization. Morrison considers confronting the man, but decides against it.

"What mission?" Reyes asked after a loud yawn.

Jack stopped walking. If sleeping late was unlike Gabriel, him not knowing when a mission was going on practically made him a different person. Reyes always requested he knew about missions as early as humanly possible to get the plan set up, and get troops ready. To hear that he didn't even know a mission was happening, in less than two weeks no less, was something Jack couldn't ignore.

"You didn't know?"

"No one fuckin' told me."

A sigh. "Gabriel, I told you a month ago. When we were scoping out Santa Fe to get to Dorado, that's when we met those Deadlocks. How could you not remember?"

Jack heard shuffling on the other end. "I guess I forgot. Where do you want to meet up?" Gabriel could be heard rummaging through dressers and padding around his room, obviously exhausted. Morrison grit his teeth and hng my the communicator, stalking over to Gabriel's door and quickly knocking on it in anger. Reyes had the nerve to just forget something like that, something that had been plaguing Jack this whole time? Gabriel had just brushed off all the dirt and rubble while Jack was still trapped.

Gabriel stumbled behind the door and threw it open, eyes tired with bags and without a shirt. "Jesus Christ, this couldn't wait until I got dressed?"

Jack crossed his arms. "We need to talk."

"Yeah, I gathered."

"Just you and I, and you need to be crystal clear with me. No bullshitting."

That made Gabriel stand up straight. He gestured for Jack to enter the room, and the two walked in stiffly while Gabriel slipped a shirt onto his form. Jack didn't even admire the muscles shifting. His mind was a steel trap and he was relentless in everything he did. Even confront someone he considered a partner for life. 

Gabriel sat on the edge of the bed while Jack stood. "So, what's up?"

Morrison scoffed. "I should be asking you the same question, Gabe."

"What do you mean?"

He began to pace about the room, fuming. "What do I mean, are you serious? I've been busting my ass to get Overwatch back on track while you and Ana are God knows where doing God knows what. It seems like I'm the only one taking this seriously and actually trying around here. It's been hell Gabe, to pick up all the pieces that fucking kid shattered and I'm doing it alone." He stopped, and stood with clenched fists at his sides. "Where have you been, Gabriel?"

Reyes shuffled uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his head. "It's been tough and you know it. I just needed some time to be alone and so did Ana. We were wrong to leave you alone like we did. I'm sorry, it won't happen again."

Jack looked at Reyes in the eyes and _knew_. He knew something was off, something was astray. He could read that man like a book and he knew when a secret was being kept. Gabriel Reyes was lying.

Said man continued to shuffle uncomfortably under the harsh gaze, staring back at Jack unyielding. "What? I said I was sorry, are we done here?"

Jack glared. "What are you hiding from me Gabriel?"

"Nothing," Reyes replied evenly, and for a second, Morrison believed him and dropped the subject like a lead weight. But there was something off, and it was hunches like these that got him Strike Commander. He had to trust his instincts and dig deeper. "Jack, you're creepin' me out here."

So he thought. The last time the two men talked was outside the room of the interrogation, way back when. Gabriel promised to take care of the situation, and Jack knew the man was not above killing criminals when they had nothing left to offer. Usually, Gabriel was quiet about those times, but he never broke off. Every now and again he would sneak into Jack's room for comfort, saying how he was a bad person who didn't deserve the praise and Jack had to assure him otherwise. Reyes was sensitive and blunt. When he shuffled under the glare, it was a tell. Morrison studied the man more, looked at the bags under his eyes and the jitter in his fingers.

"What did you do with that cowboy?"

Gabriel's eyes widened, surprised. "Cowboy?"

"The bastard who killed all our men, what did you do with him? Did he have any information on him? Anything we could use?"

"He was just a street rat, nothing of value on him except his aim."

That made Jack's heart stop. "His _aim?_ The same aim that killed all of our men, all of our friends? You call that aim valuable? You call _him_ valuable?" He was livid, voice raising with each word. Gabriel finally stood and faced Jack, with his face hardened and eyes cold. It was a look Gabriel gave when he was done playing and wanted answers. One that rowdy recruits received and one that shook men to their cores. The air was toxic and Jack knew his hunch had been right. A part of himself broke.

It came out in a whisper, bodies standing close. "Why are you lying to me?"

Gabriel sighed, and Jack knew.

Reyes couldn't stop Jack's movement, even grabbing his arm and attempting to yank him back was fruitless. Jack snarled something mean and looked back at Gabriel, a new kind of fury unleashed. There was a storm that had been building inside himself for many days and nights, and Gabriel just opened the floodgate to let it roam free. Morrison became enraged. "Where is he?"

"Jack, let me explain-"

_"Where is he?"_

"I don't know!"

Jack ripped his arm out of the grip and yanked the door open, rushing down the hall with Gabriel close behind. Startled recruits quickly leapt out of the way of the two men, knowing some kind of gauntlet had been thrown. Gabriel continued to call out things to Morrison - _"Jack just fuckin' listen to me!"_ \- but the Strike Commander was done with Gabriel's lies and deceit. Somewhere in this base he was hiding a murderer and Jack was damn sure going to find him.

"Where are you hiding him?"

"Jack, please, just give me a sec-"

Jack stopped and faced Gabriel with a red face. "Gabriel, this isn't something we're going to discuss. Does Ana know about this?"

Reyes was silent.

"Oh my god."

He turned around again, kicking open random doors and peeking his head inside them and quickly moving onto the next. He wasn't sure what he was going to do to the cowboy once he found him, but he knew it would be violent and bloody. "I asked you for one thing Gabriel, one thing! How could you do this, let someone who killed all those people continue to breathe? He is worthless, why don't you understand?" He was yelling now. "I thought I could trust you!"

Reyes was beginning to try to talk again when they both reached the training room, and heard voices inside. Quickly, before Gabriel said anything, he punched the code in and took in the sight before him as he rushed inside.

It was Genji Shimada, the recent recruit from Hanamura who was half machine, sitting on a bench with his visor off and placed to the left side of the bench. The scars were very visible in the lighting, placed there by his own kin and left to die in the name of honor. He was talking with his hands and making someone next to him laugh loudly in response. He stopped and turned to face jack, the other person following in suit,

There, in all his glory, was the nightmare Jack had been trying to forget. A second ago he had been laughing.

It all happened so quick Morrison could barely comprehend it himself; he ran forward and grabbed the kid by the throat while Geji fell backwards and Gabriel rushed to stop him. Jack pushed the kid to the ground and held him there, watching the kid's face so red and his eyes bulge out as he scratched the hands that held him there. Genji was pleading and Reyes was trying to pull him off, but Jack was hellbent on finishing what Gabriel could not. The kid was choking and gasping and trying to get some kind of protest out but found himself only making the situation worse. Morrison held on tighter, all the frustrations of late nights and UN board meetings and lies came out of his hands and into strangling the cowboy.

 _"Why?"_ He asked the suffocating boy beneath him. _"Why are you still alive?"_

"Jack stop!"

"What the hell is going on?"

It all became horrendous white noise behind him while Jack moved back quickly to glare at Gabriel. "How could this possibly be okay? How could you let this happen? Let this criminal into our home where we sleep?"

Reyes bent down and pried Jack's hands off of the cowboy, who took deep breaths and held his own throat loosely as tears streamed from his eyes. Jack and Gabriel fell back together and Genji looked between them all. Morrison heaved deep breaths and Gabriel clutched his shoulder so he couldn't escape. The whole room went quiet and tense until Jack hung his head and hissed between gritted teeth. 

_"Explain."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for 4k reads i actually wept when i saw that number i dont deserve any of them


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I like to call this chapter, "Fuck the New Lore Update I'm Writing this Piece of Shit How I Want to. Also Sorry it is 4 Months Late."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no excuse no excuse no excuse im just a terrible author who fuckt it all right up
> 
> so much has happened and so much more is going to happen so eeEEEUH
> 
> im sorry i did this all to you this chapter killed me and im sorry it is below standards but seriously i fucking hate this story but i wont delete it
> 
> after this i think im gonna stick with one shots if anything because this nightmare is killin me
> 
> thank you for all the lovely comments, kudos, and reads. i am blown away by people reading this everyday it makes my heart soar <33333

Understandably so, Jack did not speak to him. For a while.

It was to be expected; truth be told Gabriel would have been weirded out if Jack got on-board with the idea right from the start. It was a process, albeit a slow one, and Jack was just now beginning on the path. Reyes wanted to help his old friend in anyway possible, but he also knew that it would be a while before they saw eye-to-eye on anything.

He just hoped he wouldn't take his frustrations out on the kid.

Said kid was sitting on the table in the infirmary, all agents tasked with returning to their rooms for a "private meeting," set up by Jack. Jesse swung his legs over the edge, shirtless and a hell of a nasty bruise forming on his neck from Morrison's iron grip. His face is tired and beaten, so pathetic Gabriel almost put an arm around his shoulders to cheer him up. However, they both sat in silence instead and awaited medical treatment for Jesse's possibly damaged windpipe. The silence dragged on like a limp through a battle field.

Reyes, leaning against a wall, looked over at the cowboy. "What were you doing with that Shimada kid, anyway? I told you to wait for me in the mornings."

The kid didn't answer, didn't even acknowledge the question. While Gabriel determines whether or not to push for a response, the door opened quickly and in walked a young lady, very young, with blonde hair pulled up and out of her face. Gabriel recognized her and was momentarily confused.

"Angela?" He asked, making the young doctor tear her gaze from the door, scouting. "What are you doing here?"

She stood tall and proud, adjusting her badge granting her access. "I was told you were in need of medical assistance from Genji, so I snuck out. I'm a doctor, it's my job to help sick people."

"Commander Morrison is not gonna be happy when he learns you disobeyed him."

"Oh, you would know a lot about disappointing him, Gabriel."

Reyes stopped and leaned back against the wall, grumbling to himself. Angela walked over to Jesse while pulling a stethoscope out of her large pockets. The kid's eyes stayed on Gabriel, wide and somewhat afraid. With all the events of the day he was probably not as trusting to newcomers. An introduction was in order between the two teenagers.

Gabriel gestured to the doctor. "This is Angela. Angela, this is Jesse McCree, age seventeen," he said, watching Angela's face morph and change as the sentence went on. She placed sterile gloves on her hands and let the room fall into a quiet lull, only the hiss of lights above them. Jesse refused to look at the young doctor, and she refused to take her eyes off of Jesse. There is a layer of hate within the blue, a hazy cloud of disgust radiating off of her small body and Gabriel realizes she didn't just come here out of the goodness of her own heart.

Angela stepped forward, closer to the cowboy, and squared her shoulders. "Look. I don't like you, okay? I don't like you at all. Even standing here, I'm tempted to punch the living daylights out of you. I know who you are, I know what you've done. I also knew some of the people you killed in coldblooded murder, effortlessly like they were simply objects standing in your way. I know what the Deadlocks do and what you're capable of. I know I cannot stand the thought of being so close to you for another goddamned second." Her arms crossed slowly across her chest.

"Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you myself."

Jesse finally looked up at her, bruise a sickly yellow and hands slightly shaking. The kid looks like hell, and Gabriel clenches his fists. He knows Genji didn't tell her all that, which means Angela did some reading and was passing judgement on the cowboy without getting to know him. Hell, she's a doctor who doesn't even know how much he weighs and yet wants him deader than disco.

The kid's eyes did not flood with tears, they appeared much too tired and worn for that. He sighed and dropped his head in a form of defeat. _What a ride the past few weeks must have been for him_ , Gabriel thought to himself as he awaited a response.

"Look," Jesse said, a whisper containing all the aggression he could muster at the moment, "I get it. What I did back there, that was fucked right up. It was messy, it was bloody, and it hurt, I _get_ it. You want to kill me, and honestly I don't blame ya for it."

His head snapped up, teeth bared and practically snarling. "But don't for a god damn second think you know me off of just what you see on my fuckin' files. That ain't me, I ain't like that. It was a job, and I went through with it to get paid, didn't say I liked it or wanted to do it. I'm sayin' I had to do it. So get off yer fuckin' high horse and leave me the hell alone, _Angie_."

The doctor looked at Jesse for a good long while, eyed him up just to see what she was dealing with in terms of his attitude and ailment. The cowboy remained silent with his head hung once more and a ragged kind of breathing escaping him every now and again. Sure, Gabriel wanted to be mad at McCree for scolding a doctor while she was trying to help, but Angela didn't even look too mad anymore, the same kind of tiredness that usually adorned her face returned. Plus, while he somewhat agreed with the kid, screaming at Angela was not the way to express the thought.

The doctor turned to Reyes. "His windpipe maybe need a few prescriptions, but if he can yell like that, it's not going to be long lasting. I'll give you a few painkillers to ease the soreness and he should be good to go."

Angela looked at Jesse one more time before she turned on her heel and left the room, silently as she entered. 

Reyes let out a long sigh. "Well. God damn."

Jesse curled his fingers within his long, shaggy hair, tugging and groaning. _Maybe I'll give him the day off tomorrow._

* * *

 Like is so often the case, the thing that finally brought Jack out of his lull was the promise of a mission, specifically one involving Blackwatch and needing Gabriel's assistance. It was about 2 weeks before Jack would even look his friend in the eye and Reyes was starting to consider asking Ana for her help in fixing the problem when Jack approached him in the mess hall, arms crossed over his chest.

"I need your help," he stated.

Gabriel looked up from his plate of food. "Well good morning to you too, jackass."

"I'm not in the mood Gabriel, don't make me regret this."

"I think you already regret this."

Jack sighed and gave Gabriel a look, albeit not one that radiated disgust; it had a tinge of amusement and fondness to it. _It was a start._

Reyes leaned back in his chair, eyeing up Jack to see just what time had done to his old friend. Most of all, Morrison looked tired, however everyone Reyes had been talking to in the last month seemed to have the faint look of exhaustion in their eyes. Also, Jack was freshly shaven and styled his hair to be pitch perfect, not a lock out of place. Clearly, he had appearances to keep up in the face of the media since Jack had most certainly not been looking good in the recent past. 

It wasn't a hard deduction on Reyes' part, he noted as he made eye contact. "You need Blackwatch."

Jack nodded. "I need Blackwatch."

"What is it this time, something that you can't take control over? Must've been pretty bad to ask for my assistance..."

"Actually," Morrison said while shifting uncomfortably, "this isn't a Blackwatch only mission."

Reyes raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Something happened down in Dorado that requires our attention. However, sources are telling us that the mission is too big for just one group, so I need my troops to make a distraction and I need your troops to execute the mission. Stealth ops style."

All amusement that had flooded Gabriel's body simply evaporated the more Jack spoke on about the mission. He felt cold and angry, a bitter white anger rising within himself that he knew he should control, but felt no real obligation to. They were both grown adult men, they could talk about issues. But it didn't mean they had to play fair.

"So let me get this straight," Reyes started, glancing around to note that in sudden awkwardness all other operatives had fled the room and left it empty, "you want to send me and my troops to go to Dorado with you and your 'dream team,' so you can sweet talk the crooks and get into their pants and we can get our hands bloody and tainted, dishing our bullets and wreaking havoc. All while you roll in recognition, my men get blown to fucking _pieces_."

Jack looked at Gabriel, no emotion detected from Reyes' side. 

The silence lasted a few more moments before Morrison spoke up. "It's not like that, okay? Your men are specially trained in being stealthy and quiet; my men are mostly guns blazing and we need a more ruthless tactic this go around-"

"Bullshit." Reyes stands. "Don't go around and say your men are the reason you aren't going into this mission. They don't deserve that and you fucking know it."

Jack stands straighter, more authoritatively. The mood was drastically different. "Whether or not my men are the reason we aren't the main group in this mission is besides the point. You seem to forget that you lied to me on one of the most important topics in Overwatch history. Don't act like you have such a clean slate, and don't act like you know what's best for your men after you risked their and the whole organization's lives for some scrawny kid who don't even know if we can trust-"

_"Jesse is one of my men!"_

Gabriel hadn't intended for that to come out, and he definitely didn't intend for it to come out at that exact moment, Jack snarling and the harsh light of the room somehow harsher. It beat down on Gabriel and painted him in a light that made him look almost sickly, he was sure of it. Morrison let his eyes go wide as he took a slight step back, never leaving Reyes. Gabriel panicked and began thinking of how he was going to save his relationship to Morrison. They had just began to talk things out; they were officially on the road to recovery! Reyes knew they could not operate together if they hated one another, Overwatch would crumble if they stopped truly being synced together-

"I guess he is."

Gabriel's panicking ends and Jack looks at Reyes with a soft look, not one of anger but not one of happiness either. But Reyes knew it meant something, so he hung on tightly.

"Yeah," he starts, "he is. I know you don't see the potential in him like I do, but I really believe in this kid, Jack. I really think he can do some great things if we just set him on the right path and give him an opportunity to be good, maybe for the first time in his life, he could make a real difference."

Morrison sighed. "Did you atleast give him a background check, just to see if he's... clean?"

"I would if there was anything to look up."

Jack nodded and after Gabriel finally agreed to take on the mission, Jack promised to give him all the information he had on it to him as soon as possible just so that he can get him and his team prepared, including the damn cowboy. Reyes responded, "I'll keep a close look out on the kid to make sure he stays in place."

As Morrison turned to leave the room, he stopped and looked back at his old friend. "Do you trust him?"

Gabriel knows how to respond, knows how Jack wants him to respond. He wants him to think long and hard about it, really put into question everything he's been told by the kid. Jack wants Gabriel to finally agree with him so that he can say he was right and put a bullet in the kid's brain like he wanted to do the minute he met him. Jack wants Gabriel o light up with anger and realize what he is truly doingg, wants him to wake up and see that he could be killing everyone he knows in one false move. Jack wants Gabriel to give up on Jesse.

"Yes." It was an instant reply.

Morrison puased before nodding and making his way out of them room, never once looking back.

* * *

 He was about to fucking _scream_.

It was impossible, Jack knew this going in, but god damn did Gabriel always have to make things so difficult for him? Did he always have to ignore good advice and be stubborn as all hell? It wasn't like Jack was trying to fail Gabe, he was just trying to help him pry his eyes open and fucking see what he's doing.

The Strike Commander stormed down the hallway in a rage, trying to piece together what the hell was happening to the organization. He already blew up at Gabriel once and listened to him when he tried to explain his shitty idea of housing a murderer; Jack thinks he has done more for Gabriel than he deserves when talking about Jesse McCree. Jack was fed up and wanted to be alone, which of course, was not in the rulebook for today. First a new mission sprung up and now Gabe's little revelation... it was not turning out like Jack wanted.

As he stromed, he heard an amused voice behind him. "Wanna stomp your feet a little louder, _ghabaa?"_

Jack turned and saw Ana, a faint smile and arms full of equipment. Beside her, Fareeha hung around carrying a notebook. Morrison calmed and acknowledged the girl. "Hello Fareeha. I apologize, I didn't see you there."

She shrugged and opened her notebook. "It's okay. Mom wanted me to help her with some supplies for the mission."

Ana always told her daughter everything that was going on, this Jack knew, but it still felt a bit awkward to know that a small girl knew just as much information about Overwatch as he did, if not more. The pen in her small hand clicked, and Jack looked up at Ana.

She raised an eyebrow. "Were you just stomping around for fun or was there a particular reason behind it?"

"I wasn't stomping around."

"My sources say otherwise."

She looked down at Fareeha and Jack followed, gaze falling on her. Fareeha unclicked the pen and showed her art off, a crudely drawn doodle of Jack saying, "I'M MAD!" Ana laughed somewhat hysterically as Jack chuckled good naturally, seeing the small girl almost smirk before closing her notebook. "Ma told me to take notes of everything I thought was important. Just following my orders."

Fareeha talked so much like a soldier that Jack felt a spark of pride within himself, knowing that Fareeha was okay living here, living with these people. She was meant to live here and call this place home, hell she was practically born on a battlefield, one of the traits that came with being the child of Ana Amari. Fareeha looked so natural among the troops and holding equipment, looked like she was ready to join the fight any minute. She didn't have to work for her place or right anymore, that time had come and gone. This child, Jack concluded, he knew what she was capable of.

Morrison thought back to the nightmares he was having a week ago, ones filled with blood and tears and anguish and failure. Ones with that reeked of death and made him stone cold to the touch.

 _Fareeha is sleeping in the same building as a murderer._ The thought made Jack freeze.

He didn't come back to his sense until someone was snapping their fingers in front of his face, which turned out to be Ana. "You never answered my question."

Jack looked at Ana and felt the flower of anger bloom within himself. Ana had lied alongside Gabriel, went along with everything he told her to. No one makes Ana Amari do anything she didn't want to, so that means that not only did she agree to not tell Jack, she agreed to believe in Jesse McCree. It was something Jack was not going to get behind anytime soon.

"Ana, I need to speak to you privately about something urgent,' he inquired. Ana's face morphed into confusion.

"What's going on?" Fareeha asked as she looked up to her mother for answers. Ana looked down at her child and smiled. "Can you carry the rest of the equipment to the training room while I talk to Jack?"

Her daughter nodded and accepted the extra weight as though it weighed nothing at all. Before she could ask anymore questions, Ana pecked her on the forehead and instructed her that she would locate her after the talk to discuss mechanics with Torbjorn and Reinhardt. Fareeha agreed and was off, the two adults watched her go down the hallway and around the corner.

"She's a good girl," Ana murmured without looking at Jack. Morrison glanced to his side.

"You raised her well."

"What can I say? I'm good with kids." Jack didn't like the knowing smile she gave him and the playful push, far too playful for Jack's mood. "You and Gabe aren't half bad with her either."

"We treat her like an adult because she knows how to make adult decisions," Jack responded, knowing well and good where the conversation was going.

Ana looked turned to her friend. "You give her respect because she has paid her dues, because you think she's earned it." Ana sighed. "Did I ever tell you the story of one time at Fareeha's PTA meeting, one of the moms was extremely nasty to my daughter? Granted, she was from a fairly chaotic household with five kids and a cheating husband, but she was especially rude to Fareeha. She went on and on about how Fareeha never interacts with any of the other kids and was a social outcast, saying how she barely acted like a child at all. I went on to defend her because, well, she's my kid. And that mom said that she wasn't going to respect my daughter's decisions until she participates in the bake sale. She hadn't paid her dues in the community of the school and therefore. She did not like Fareeha, simply because she did not fit the ideals in her mind already set up."

Jack lets his mind process the story. "What are you playing at, Ana? You know what I'm here to talk about."

Ana crossed her arms and let a fond smile play at her lips. "That mom didn't respect Fareeha because she didn't act enough like a child and you respect her because she doesn't." Ana looked at Jack. "We all have different interpretations of where respect should be given. Not everyone thinks the same things are respectful."

Morrison sighs and crosses his arms back. "Why didn't you guys tell me you were hiding a murderous cowboy in our base next to your own child?"

"Because Gabriel and I agreed that we wanted to give him a chance and that you weren't going to go along with it."

"Why did you think I may have a problem with that?"

"Because you're a good guy." Ana grinned. "That's why they made you Strike Commander, after all. But sometimes, you need to raise a little hell and see if it'll pay off."

"You seem awfully calm about risking the lives of hundreds of people."

"People here are capable of themselves, like Fareeha. They would know what to do if Jesse tried to hurt them, they aren't stupid. Give the base more credit."

A scary thought pops into Jack's head and he rubbed his forehead with tired fingers, trying to calm his aching mind and wrap it around the bizarre situation before him. There was so much on his already full plate, Jack knew that sleep would evade him that night in stress and anxiety. There were far too many questions and not nearly enough answers. 

"Do you think Gabe would know what to do?" It came out in a whisper.

The two friends exchange a look, one of silent agreements and they both knew the answer. They dared not speak it outloud.

"God dammit," Jack muttered before burying his face in his hands. He had a lot of work to do.


	9. update :^)

uh hi!

i know i know this is like, ridiculous of me to talk about, let alone in a chapter update. im sorry if i got ur hopes up, its a shitty thing to do and i truly and completely apologize. however, i think its been long enough that i need to say something about this fic, and i dont think anyone will read it if its on my tumblr, which is understandable.

tldr; this fic is officially discontinued. heres why:

i started this back in sept 2016, just new in the overwatch fandom and starting my sophomore year of highschool. i made this fic because i wanted to explore my take on the relationship between reyes and jesse because at the time, i identified as aromantic and i really loved their dynamic as a father and son (it was also easier to write since it wasnt a romance fic and thus i didnt struggle). 

i put that it was also a mchanzo fic for the sole purpose of getting people to read my fic, because i knew people would only read it is it had mchanzo and i was going to find a way to fit it in even if it killed me.

i had no idea this fic was going to get now over 7k reads and over 600 kudos, at the time i hadnt even had a fic that ever got 1000 reads. i saw people leaving me such lovely comments and bookmarking and getting excited for my writing and for the first few months, chapters were easy to make because it was the thrill of something new and i loved the attention i was getting, to tell you the truth. even when i took the mchanzo out, people were still so nice to me i felt absolutely amazing.

but as time went on, i looked back onto my older chapters, my first and second ones, and i despised them. i hated how my old writing looked so much, even if it was from a few months prior. it wore me down to see my old writing just, right in front of me. my story didnt feel cohesive or any good, so chapters took longer to make and drained me. 

since chapters took forever to make, i hated everything i was writing. its like when u make something and u look at it so long you hate it and want to get rid of it: thats how every sentence of those chapters felt. i published it and felt good for a day until i realized i had to  make another one, and it pissed me off. i hated writing, i hated the fic, i didnt even want to write anymore.

not to mention i was also getting tired of overwatch. i didnt like how the fandom acted towards one another and i didnt like blizzards treatment of characters; how they never told us anything and instead just kept adding new characters. the game kept changing and yet also has been the same since launch. i just had no passion for the characters anymore. so it was really hard to write for them, they felt foreign.  

i cant make myself like something, if i wrote a chapter now itd feel completely different from the others. it wouldnt be fair to you. and also, i dont like this fic.

im not going to delete it, because i want it to be a reminder of my past skills and how far ill go. its the same reason i havent deleted my god awful bildip stories: i hate them with a passion but they show my progression, erasing the past means i havent learned anything from it. so thisll stay and rot on my profile.

you can curse me out and hate me, thats understandable and fair. ill respond to every comment i get here, so feel free to yell at me about this decision, id be mad too. just know that i never intended this fic to be abandoned, i wrote notes out for it and everything. for a few good months, this fic was my passion. now its just another unfinished pile of shit.

thank you all so much for 7000 reads, it means the world to me that youd read this labor of love then labor of hate then abandoned child. some parts of it i really liked, truth be told. but i just have no passion for overwatch anymore. im sorry for doing this to you all. you deserve better.

thank you- space <3

**Author's Note:**

> father gabriel saved my crops and cleared my pores so here is to contribute to it  
> i have no idea when ill update this :^) but i intend on finishing it


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